


Maddie Is Missing

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emissary Claudia Stilinski, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Imprisonment, Lawyer Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Past Danny Mahealani/Ethan - Freeform, Past Lydia Martin/Aiden, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Lydia Martin/Danny Mahealani, Police Officer Jackson Whittemore, Temporary Character Death, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 49,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4095295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had the perfect life: a rising star in law, on track to become partner before he's thirty, and a fling with one of the hottest dudes ever. Then the dude disappears, and Stiles finds out his omega heritage has tripped him up, leaving him with a troubled pregnancy and stuck on bed rest. But he's handling it! He's good on his own! Right up until something goes horribly, horribly wrong, and he has to figure out how to move forward and make everything right again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my story for Bitetime based on the 2007 Lifetime movie [My Baby Is Missing](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/My_Baby_Is_Missing). I have never seen the movie, nor seen more of it than the Wikipedia page, so I took all my inspiration from the two paragraph plot description. To me, it screamed Sterek and an unexpected Alpha/Omega pregnancy.
> 
> Please note, there are some disturbing tags on this fic. If you've read the description of the original movie, you already know why, otherwise you can check the end notes for minor spoilers. Some of the spoiler notes will be posted when those chapters post.
> 
> This story will be posting weekly on Sundays until it is complete. I expect it to be 10 chapters when completed, and around 50k long.

Stiles hates working from home. It used to make an occasional nice break from his sixty hour weeks in the office, but ever since Deaton put him on mandatory bed rest, he hasn’t left his house. He’s sick of it. Sick of the bed, sick of the couch, sick of the fact that he can only move around in order to go to the bathroom or from the couch to the bed and back again—and he requires help for the latter. There’s a fridge in his bedroom and another in his living room, and he only eats hot meals when the nurse comes by because he’s not allowed to stand in the kitchen in order to warm something up.

It sucks. It really, truly, horribly sucks.

At least Deaton didn’t take away the work. He tried. He _said_ it could be bad for the baby, that stress would make his blood pressure rise and Stiles would endanger both himself and his daughter. Stiles had argued that attempting to relax with nothing to do but watch old episodes of _Supernatural_ was going to drive him insane and that would be way worse for his blood pressure.

They tried it for twenty-four hours. As it turned out, Stiles was right, and Deaton authorized four hours of work a day, while reclining on the couch and with a laptop on a desk, not overheating against his belly.

It’s not the most comfortable of arrangements, but it keeps Stiles from going mad with needing to know what’s happening. He can answer his emails, check in on cases and clients, answer questions. It makes him feel like he’s still involved and in control, and like he’ll be ready to jump right back in after his daughter is born and he finds a good daycare.

Because “find daycare” was on the list to do in the two months before her birth, and he’s been stuck in his house since then which means it hasn’t gotten done. _Damn it_.

Currently he’s on the couch after Scott helped him get to it mid-morning. His ass aches and he wants to stand up, move around, do some stretching, but the little monitor he wears on his fingers beeps every time he tries to lower his feet. He won’t risk it. He might not have _expected_ this, but the little girl that he carries has become the center of his whole existence. Unplanned pregnancy or not, he wants this child, and he’s looking forward to the day he gets to hold her in his arms.

The key in his door jams, twists twice before it opens, and he shakes his head. Some day, when he can move again, he has to fix it. It’s never worked right, not since he moved in, and he just hasn’t gotten around to changing the lock.

“Living room,” he calls out, as if he would be anywhere else. Usually Heather comes by twice a day—once to move him into the living room and make sure he has snacks and a healthy lunch, and once to move him back to bed. He’d given her the morning off since Scott was hanging out with him today, but right about now he was looking forward to a good dinner. Anything was better than what Scott could cook.

“Hi there.” The woman who walks in is unfamiliar, pretty and brunette with a bright, sweet smile. “I’m Jennifer Blake, and you’re Mr. Stilinski, right?” She holds up the key as if he could be anyone else after she just walked into his house.

“ID please.” He holds out one hand. Even though it’s not unusual for the service to send over a different nurse, it’s almost always Heather on the weekdays and Stephanie on the weekends. He can’t be too cautious—he was raised by a Sheriff.

She picks up the badge, lifting the cord from around her neck, and hands it to him. “Sorry about coming by without warning. When you gave Heather the morning off, she decided to take advantage of a spur of the moment long weekend, so I was called in. Don’t worry, I’ve been given the run down on everything you need. Heather told me that there’s lasagna in the fridge, and that you like a salad with your dinner, and you’ve been craving ice cream bars so I should make sure the freezer in your bedroom fridge is stocked up. Is there anything else?”

“I need to pee.” Stiles hates having to tell people that, hates the fact that it’s just _easier_ and _safer_ when they can accompany him to the bathroom. She only smiles gently and offers an arm, helping him get up and stable despite his huge and ungainly belly, before they wobble carefully down the hall.

“I’ll be right here,” she says, and lets him go in alone.

One of the worst parts of being eight months pregnant is that he can barely reach his dick, let alone see the damned thing. There’s a part of him that misses getting off, but between the risk of raised blood pressure and the fact that it’s uncomfortable to reach around his belly, Stiles can’t even consider it. A good piss is about as exciting as his day gets these days.

He _misses_ his dick. He misses his sex drive, and fuck knows he misses the idea of sex with a person other than his own hand. He wonders if he’ll ever get that chance again; single father isn’t really a great recommendation for a one night stand. And he’s not going the relationship route again any time soon, if ever.

Jennifer’s waiting in the hall for him when he emerges, still struggling with the tie that keeps his sweats hanging low below his belly. She patiently offers to help, tying it more quickly than he could possibly manage. Her hand flits over his belly, and Stiles winces, tries to keep from flinching away from another person touching him. It’s not that he doesn’t like to be touched. Normally he loves being touched. But so damned many people like to touch his stomach, like he’s some kind of fat Buddha to rub for luck. Everyone’s told him that it’s just part of being pregnant, but that doesn’t mean Stiles has to _like_ it. 

On the other hand, she’s a nurse. She’s going to help him get cleaned up, get changed for bed. She’s going to have to touch him to check the baby’s heartbeat and monitor his vitals. He can’t just slap her hand away. This is what she _does_.

He sighs, holds out one hand and waits for her to wedge herself under his shoulder, helping him with his awkward gait down the hall to his bedroom. He’s silent through the monitoring of everything, smiling slightly when she tells him that his daughter is wide awake and kicking—he can feel that for himself, thanks—with a strong heart. He manages to make himself comfortable while she disappears to get his dinner, delivered on the hospital tray complete with his precious glass of soda (one coffee in the morning, one soda in the evening, god _damn_ it he is so sick of being pregnant) and two surprisingly tiny pills.

He picks up one of the pills, holds it between thumb and forefinger. “Did Deaton change something?”

“Hm?” Jennifer looks over from where she’s gathering up his discarded day clothes and taking them to the hamper. “Oh, yes, you’ve only got a few weeks left, and he wants to ensure that you’re prepared for birth. It’s a shift in formulation from maintaining pregnancy to building up the reserves you’ll need when labor begins. You may find that you sleep more after taking them; your body has more changes to go through to get you ready.” She smiles gently. “I know, sleep probably isn’t what you want to be doing right now. But it’s what’s best for you and your daughter.” She tilts her head, expression openly curious. “Do you have a name for her yet?”

“Madeline Claudia.” There was never a question in his mind, not since he found out he was having a daughter. Madeline for his own personal reasons, and Claudia in remembrance of his mother. “She’ll be Maddie for short, or as my dad puts it, Maddie for those rare moments when she’s being good and Madeline Claudia most of the time when she’s getting into things she shouldn’t be.” Stiles smiles wryly because he’s pretty damned sure that he’ll be cursed to have a child just like himself; that’s the way things seem to work.

“It’s a pretty name. I love the way people are returning to older styles of names and making them current these days, like Olivia and Sophia.” Jennifer cleans while she speaks, picking up the detritus of the day, scattered wherever Stiles let it fall. It’s messier than usual; Scott wasn’t really into doing the clean-up in the morning. “I’m sure she’s going to be beautiful, especially if she gets your eyes.”

“Her other father’s eyes are gorgeous,” Stiles says quietly. He doesn’t like to think about it, doesn’t want to imagine how Maddie might be a combination of them, maybe having darker hair or forest-green eyes. “If she looks anything like him, she’ll be devastating.” 

“Was he as nice as he was good-looking?” Jennifer gestures to the food, and Stiles starts picking at the lasagna while he considers the question.

He knows better than to take the vitamins before he eats. There’s something in them—iron, maybe—that upsets his stomach if he hasn’t eaten. It was hell during the first few months when he couldn’t keep anything down. Now he just lies around on his fat (and getting fatter) ass all day, eats, and takes his meds. The carefully measured portion of lasagna disappears quickly, washed down by the glass of soda, and he lingers over the salad. “He was,” he says quietly. “At least I thought he was a good guy. Then he just disappeared and that’s that, so as nice as he seemed, I guess he wasn’t actually _nice_ after all.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Jennifer murmurs. Her hand brushes over his and he takes it for the comfort that’s meant. “Finish up now, and I’ll get rid of the plates and do the dishes for you.”

He holds up the two tiny pills in a silent toast and takes them with the water that she brought, then manages to finish the salad in only a few forkfuls. He grabs a brief he’s supposed to be reading—he promised commentary by tomorrow—and lies on his left side while he peruses it. He can hear Jennifer knocking around in the kitchen, a faint background noise, almost as if someone lives with him. It’s soothing, and his eyes slowly drift closed.

She wasn’t lying about the effect of the vitamins.

Not that it matters. He’ll have plenty of time to look at the brief in the morning, when the desperate need to pee ( _again_ ) wakes him early. He’ll just close his eyes for now and take a little nap. After all, it’s not like he’s going anywhere.

#

It’s the incessant beeping that pulls him from his slumber.

He blinks into the brightness of the room, light reflecting off the clean white of the ceiling and the cheery yellow walls. The beep seems louder as soon as he opens his eyes, and he hears a soft, “Oh, _Stiles_.”

“Melissa?”

This isn’t his bedroom.

 _This isn’t his bedroom_.

His heart pounds in his chest, and the beeping intensifies. He manages to find where Melissa stands near the door, a chart in her hands that she reaches to set somewhere outside of his current range of vision. “What am I doing here, Melissa? What’s going on? What happened? Am I okay? Is Maddie okay?” 

Melissa’s brown eyes go soft, her expression shuttered. Stiles has seen it a thousand times in his life, and every time it meant that she was about to say something that would disappoint him or Scott. He doesn’t want to hear it now, doesn’t want to _know_ , not yet, not when he’s panicking. His breath is short, wrapping around his heart and squeezing, and there are pricks of darkness at the corners of his eyes. “Melissa,” he whispers. “ _Mom_.”

She yanks a chair closer and sinks into it. Stiles smells leather, cinnamon, pine, then he feels Melissa’s hand wrapped around his, clinging to him as her other hand touches his cheek, turns him to face her. “Focus on me, Stiles,” she says calmly. “Focus on me. Breathe with me. You can get through this.”

He tries, he really tries. He drags breath into shrinking lungs, exhales as slowly as he can. He counts to ten and back again, does his damnedest not to pass out. Dimly he realizes that the door is opening, someone else coming in. That the machines are no longer beeping, and that there is someone behind him, a hand on his shoulder.

Pine and cinnamon intensify, and he gathers that into his lungs, holds onto it as his eyes drift closed.

His next exhalation shudders and goes long. When he breathes in there is sweet blessed air and he holds it in, treasuring it. “Oh _fuck_ ,” he whispers as the breath escapes again. “Thank you.”

Whoever it is behind him backs up, lets go. “Of course.” 

The voice is rough and wrecked, but Stiles would recognize it anywhere. He’d twist to see him, but Melissa is still holding on to him, reattaching leads and cables that start the machines beeping again. He looks her in the eye, voice flat as he asks, “What is Derek doing here?”

“He heard what happened and came,” she says calmly. “I had no idea that he didn’t know you were pregnant.”

How did she even get in touch with him? Stiles’s jaw goes tight, teeth clenched. He smiles, knowing he fails at an expression that even approaches good humor. “Well, yeah, there was a reason for that,” he mutters. “Are we done here?”

Melissa’s fingers drift over his cheek and for just a moment Stiles remembers another touch, also light but like a mockery of affection from someone he didn’t even know. He blinks, tries to grab hold of the memory, but it slips away too quickly. He ducks his gaze, and she sighs and takes her hand away.

“Dr. Deaton will be in soon,” she says quietly. “He wants to talk to you about what happened and about what needs to happen next. Stiles…” She hesitates, and he glances back up, sees the sorrow in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Stiles,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

No one’s said anything, and Stiles doesn’t want them to. He doesn’t need to hear the words to know; he can feel the difference in his own body. There’s no movement, nothing pressing on his bladder. He feels _empty_.

He’s alone.

He doesn’t feel like talking anymore, so he just closes his eyes, waits until he hears the distinctive sound of Melissa’s nursing shoes leaving the room, the door latching softly behind her. There’s a low creak, the scrape of the chair across the floor as Derek sinks into it. He can imagine the way Derek looks, sprawled slightly, then leaning forward, expression intent just before his hand touches Stiles’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Derek says.

“You don’t get to say that.” Stiles talks to the mattress, grumbling into the cotton that’s damp with sweat. “You do _not_ get to be sorry _now_ about leaving. You do _not_ get to be guilty about abandoning me to deal with this on my own. This is _not_ about you.”

“I’m not trying to say that it—”

“Just shut up,” Stiles snaps, and to his surprise, Derek does. Machines beep through the silence and Stiles tries to wrangle his words, tries to put his feelings into sentences that might actually make sense. He fails and grumbles, rubbing his face against the mattress. “This isn’t about you,” he mutters again.

“No, it’s not.” Derek rubs Stiles’s shoulder, and he should tell him to stop but it feels _good_ , so Stiles lets him keep going. “It’s about you and your baby.”

 _Your baby_. Stiles’s breath catches at that, both at the words where Derek admits that Maddie was _Stiles’s_ baby, and at the swift kick in the gut of the realization he doesn’t want to make. “You don’t get to talk about her,” he whispers.

“We need to, someday.”

“Not right this second we don’t.” Not now, maybe not ever. It’s a non-thing. A thing that existed but doesn’t anymore and why should it even matter to Derek after he was missing for eight months? Stiles holds on to his anger at Derek to keep the grief at bay. “What are you even doing here?”

“Scott panicked to Isaac when you were brought in, and Isaac got in touch with me.” Derek pauses, then adds, “I’ve been talking to Isaac on and off for the last few months. Not as much as we used to. He didn’t mention…”

“He knew better.” Stiles’s relationship with Isaac is still complicated. It always has been, ever since they were teenagers and Isaac appeared in high school and suddenly became Scott’s other best friend. But Isaac _knows_ how hurt Stiles was, and Stiles knows that Scott would make sure Isaac wouldn’t inadvertently make him hurt more. Not anymore, anyway.

“So I came when he told me,” Derek continues, as if Stiles hadn’t just admitted that he’d kept Derek from knowing the truth. “Scott was afraid you were dying.”

“Obviously I didn’t, so you can leave now.”

“Mr. Stilinski.” The door opens, the doctor already speaking as he enters the room. There’s a pause, and Stiles rolls over, amused to see an actual reaction in Dr. Deaton’s expression, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. 

Derek lifts his lip; it almost sounds like he’s growling, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“If you haven’t heard by now, this is the other father,” Stiles says. “Whatever you’re going to say to me you can say to him. Apparently he now thinks he’s invested.”

“I came for you, Stiles,” Derek says.

“I need to examine you first, Mr. Stilinski, then we can discuss what happened.” Deaton’s smile is kind and calm. It makes Stiles’s spine itch uncomfortably with the need to get away. “If you do not mind, your other half can wait in the hall.”

“He’s not my other half,” Stiles protests, at the same time as Derek insists that he’s staying right there. 

Deaton waits, and Derek turns around, sits down again to face the wall.

It seems to be all the privacy Stiles is going to get.

Deaton helps arrange Stiles with clinical detachment, getting his feet in stirrups, _exposing_ him while murmuring under his breath as he checks him inside and out. “There’s no damage to your birth canal, and everything has been expelled. I see no need for further procedures, and I am certain that you are still very likely to be able to conceive again in the future. You are a lucky omega, Mr. Stilinski. This could have been far worse.”

Stiles’s jaw locks because _that_? Just pisses him off. “My daughter is _dead_ and you say it could have been _worse_?”

“You could have died with her, Mr. Stilinski, or at the very least you could have been left barren.” Deaton hooks a rolling chair with his foot, drags it close and sinks into it as Derek turns back around and watches them both warily. “You were found by your visiting nurse in a pool of your own blood. You were in hard labor and hemorrhaging; you are very lucky that she arrived when she did, and that she was able to get you to ER in time.”

Stiles opens his mouth, wanting to protest that he remembers when the nurse arrived. That he was _fine_ and he had dinner and he slept. He closes it again, because maybe now isn’t the time. Maybe he needs more information.

“I was in labor?” He can’t help the way he sounds dubious; he doesn’t remember this at all.

“Quite advanced, according to your charts. Dr. Morell shows you as close to fully dilated upon your arrival, and you were ready to push within the hour.”

“I don’t remember giving birth,” Stiles whispers. Because he should remember this. Pain, intense pain—he’s been told it’s one thing an omega never _forgets_.

“You were unconscious.” Deaton’s smile is thin. “You remained unconscious through the entire ordeal, and Dr. Morell determined that it would be far more risk to rouse you than it would be to mimic bodily behavior with the aid of a nurse.” At Stiles’s confused look, he clarifies. “The attending nurse massaged your belly, mimicking the natural push in order to expel the child from your womb.”

Stiles shudders at the clinical words. “Not the child,” he says carefully. “Maddie. Madeline Claudia Stilinski. _She_ was a girl, and she was _mine_.”

“Maddie.” Deaton’s voice gentles. “It was a quick labor, Stiles. She was born within two hours of your arrival in the hospital. Unfortunately she showed signs of distress while still in the womb, and upon her birth she was not breathing. Emergency care was administered, but she was declared dead thirty minutes later. I’m sorry.”

There’s a difference between _knowing_ in his heart and hearing the same thing stated baldly. Maddie is dead. His _daughter_ is dead. His breath catches, panic threatening to overwhelm him again when his throat locks down on the feeling of tears. They well up in his eyes, sliding over his cheeks as he blinks to see through them.

“You knew this was a risky pregnancy,” Deaton says quietly. “This is why you were on bed rest, Mr. Stilinski.”

“I did everything right.” The words are choked and tight, and when Derek offers a hand, Stiles grabs onto it, clinging so hard he’s sure it must hurt. He feels knuckles crack, and he hiccups through something that is _not_ a hysterical laugh. “I did everything you told me, Dr. Deaton. I did _everything_. I didn’t work more than four hours a day. I only moved to pee and to get my food. I relied on my nurse, I took the damned vitamins that made me want to puke or knocked me out. _I didn’t do anything wrong_.”

“Even—”

“No.” Derek interrupts before Deaton can speak. “No. Let him grieve. You said he’s safe? Then your part in this is done. Get out of this room.”

There’s a part of Stiles that wants to tell Derek to sit down and shut up because he can fight his own damned battles, and another part that’s relieved because Deaton _does_ leave. He just goes still and silent, then rises from the chair and walks out without another word.

Stiles doesn’t care that Derek is still there, doesn’t care that he sees him being weak. He gives over to the tears and lets them come with big gulps and shuddering breaths, soaking the sheets and pillow as he curls around himself, trying to protect a belly that no longer holds a child. 

He imagined her so many times. He was _so close_ to having her, and she’s gone now. She’s gone.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do.

#

Stiles sleeps for a time, dozing on and off, waking when Melissa comes to check his vitals again and unhooks some of the machinery, then slipping back into the dreamlands. Every time he opens his eyes, Derek is there, sprawled in the chair, his legs too long for the small room, his expression too dark for the cheerful wallpaper.

Stiles doesn’t have the energy to tell him to leave. Not when Derek reaches out without saying a word, squeezing his hand, stroking his shoulder to help Stiles relax. Not when he’s _useful_ for the moment, a solid presence that reminds Stiles that while Maddie is gone, _he_ is still there. Stiles is still alive, and he needs to stay that way.

He wakes again to murmured voices, the sound of a tray being placed on a table as it is wheeled off to one side. He blinks into the light as the door closes, and Derek stands there with a small cup in his hand, the foil peeled back from the top.

“Were you going to eat my jello?” Stiles asks.

Derek glances down at it, then at the tray. “It’s pudding, and it’s mine. I asked if I could have something brought up, because I didn’t think you should be alone right now. Don’t worry, you’ve got one too.”

Stiles’s stomach rumbles and he feels weirdly betrayed that he could actually be _hungry_ now. He realizes he’s no longer hooked up to the IV; while the needle is still in the back of his hand and taped securely in place, it has been crimped off and disconnected from the line. _Just in case_ , he figures, although he hopes he’s past whatever could cause him to need the IV again soon.

He pushes himself to sitting, ignoring the way his head spins and his muscles feel overextended and weak. Derek helps him, and Stiles doesn’t say a word as they manage to get the bed and Stiles both into position, and the rolling table brought to him.

It seems weird that his belly is no longer in the way of the table, and Stiles shoves the sorrow back down. He doesn’t want to cry, not now, not in front of Derek. There will be time for that when he’s all alone in the middle of the night, stuck in this place without anyone to hold onto.

Derek divides the food, referring to a little slip that must list which dishes are specifically for Stiles, to help him replenish his system. The last item is a tiny paper cup with two pills in it, and Stiles recognizes his old vitamins. He touches the cup. “I thought I’d be done with these.”

“Dr. Deaton stopped in while you were sleeping and said that he wants you to continue the vitamins for another month, to help ensure that you have enough nutrients in your system to repair any damage from childbirth. He said they’re specifically formulated to take an omega from early conception through the first months after birth.” Derek says the words quickly, as if repeating something he had carefully memorized before it slips from his mind.

“So I should have taken these all along?” Stiles looks at the pills and those are _not_ the vitamins that Jennifer gave him. She’d said something about orders to change… hadn’t she? His memory is still foggy, and trying to sift through the specifics gives Stiles a headache. Rather than think about it more, he tips the two pills into his mouth and chases them down with a long drink of water.

No soda. Apparently his treasured once a day sweet treat isn’t allowed for lunch in the hospital. No coffee, either, although it looks like he’s allowed to make a cup of tea.

Pity he doesn’t actually like tea.

The chicken is bland, the butter is the best part of the roll, and he hates cabbage but he eats it anyway and remembers his own mother making him eat it as a child. He’d promised her that he’d never make his kid eat cabbage, then she’d died and he’d wished she were still around to make him eat it again.

He wonders if anyone told his dad yet that they lost another Claudia.

He wonders how the _hell_ he’s going to manage to say the words.

The pudding is the best part of the meal, and Stiles saves his for last, even though Derek’s was gone within minutes, long before he ate his sandwich. He’s just put the spoon in and taken the first bite when there’s a rap on the door and it opens heavily, banging against the wall.

“Stilinski.”

“Whittemore.”

Perfect, as if this wasn’t already bad enough, someone sent Jackson fucking Whittemore from the Sheriff’s office to talk to him? This is _not_ how Stiles wants his father to learn about his granddaughter.

Jackson looks at the one chair where Derek sits, lips pursed in irritation when Derek doesn’t move. He grabs the wheeled stool the doctor usually uses and pulls that to the end of Stiles’s bed, dropping onto it. He takes a notepad from his pocket, flips it open, then pulls out his phone and sets it on the end of the bed. Stiles resists the childish urge to kick out with his foot and knock it off.

“You have the right to refuse to have this conversation recorded,” Jackson tells him. “But it is my recommendation that you allow an electronic record as that can be used as evidence and will be more specific than any notes I might take, which may potentially include human error.”

Too many words. “Repeat that?”

“You want him to record it, because he’s taking evidence, and it’s admissible in court,” Derek says quietly. “On the other hand, anything you say could be taken out of context—”

“I’m a fucking lawyer, I know how it works,” Stiles snaps. What he _doesn’t_ understand is why Jackson is _here_ and in uniform and treating Stiles like he’s some kind of criminal. “Yes, I consent to the recording on the condition that Derek takes one as well on his phone.”

Derek places the phone on the bed next to Stiles, starts the recording, and Stiles breathes easier. He may be angry at Derek, but he still trusts him to at least have his best interests at heart. And right now he feels like he needs someone on his side.

Jackson looks at the notepad in front of him, opens his mouth and closes it several times before he says something that is probably meant to be Stiles’s legal first name but comes out like a butchered mouthful of rocks. Stiles snorts, and Jackson glares, amending it to, “Stiles Stilinski, you are being interviewed to determine whether you will be charged in the wrongful death of your daughter, Baby Stilinski, stillborn at 7:12pm on the eighth of March.”

“I’m _what_?” Stiles tries to push himself up, wants to go right over there and punch the smirk off of Jackson’s face. “I didn’t have anything to do with Maddie’s death.”

Jackson pins him with a glare. “Drugs were found in your system, Stilinski. Drugs that would bring on premature labor at severe risk to the infant. You didn’t _care_ , Stilinski. More than one person witnessed your claim that you never wanted to be pregnant, and that she was in the way of your career. It’s well-known that if you weren’t pregnant, you might be partner by now.”

“I almost died too!” Stiles doesn’t remember it, but he’s paid attention, and he’s pretty damned sure Scott wouldn’t have started the path to calling Derek if he’d thought Stiles was going to be fine.

“I think you need to leave.” Derek rises from his chair, takes a step toward Jackson, who doesn’t move. “This is not the time for this kind of bullshit.”

“I want to talk to my dad.” Stiles doesn’t understand why the sheriff isn’t here, why he would send Jackson instead. “He must be worried about me. Get hold of him, Jackson, bring him in. He’ll get this set straight, because I did _not_ try to kill my child. Yeah, the pregnancy wasn’t _planned_. But I wanted her, Jackson. _I wanted her_.”

“Then why did you take drugs that would cause a miscarriage?” Jackson leans forward, pen over the paper. “Stilinski, you were found with drugs in your system that cause spontaneous labor. Your actions caused your daughter to die. And your father? He’s home, surrounded by empty bottles. He’s _grieving_ , Stilinski. Let him have that. Don’t make him grieve for you, too.”

Stiles can’t breathe again, his heart tight, lungs aching. He reels, reaches out, grabs onto Derek’s hand when it’s given. The room is spinning and for just a moment he thinks he’s going to need to have Derek call the nurse, then blessed air makes it into his lungs. He swears under his breath at the taste of it, goes over Jackson’s words in his head. “Wait. Drugs? I didn’t take any drugs.”

“Not according to the tox screen,” Jackson sneers. “It’s right there in black and white, fresh from your blood. You probably didn’t think you’d be caught, but with you unconscious it was standard protocol.”

“I didn’t take anyth…” His voice trails off mid-word. “The vitamins. The nurse brought me new vitamins.”

“The nurse.” Jackson’s lips thin. “What nurse?”

“I was on bed rest; I had a nurse coming by twice a day to help me with meals, moving around.” Stiles shrugs one shoulder, spreads his hand. “Get in touch with the nursing association and talk to Jennifer Blake. She wasn’t my usual nurse, but she’s the one who was there that night. She brought me new vitamins, something better for the end of pregnancy. I took them, and I fell asleep while she was cleaning up in the kitchen.” Stiles laughs dryly. “Jackson, I barely was able to get to the bathroom to _pee_ alone, how the hell would I have gotten drugs?”

“Maybe you called for this _Jennifer_ to bring them to you.”

Derek squeezes Stiles’s hand, and he glances over, sees one eyebrow rise. Stiles turns back to look at Jackson. “Go find Jennifer Blake. Ask her what she gave me. That’s where you’re going to get your answer.”

“You’re just trying to put me off—”

A low sound like a growl from Derek stops Jackson in his tracks. He freezes, eyes wide and body perfectly still. Derek smiles, sharp with teeth.

“Go find Jennifer Blake,” Derek repeats. “Go find her, then come back and tell us what you’ve found.” When Jackson hesitates, Derek’s lip lifts and he growls again. “ _Go_.”

“I don’t know whether that was hot or terrifying,” Stiles mutters as Jackson disappears, the door banging shut behind him. Derek looks down, drops back into his chair and picks up his phone, stopping the recording.

“I lost my temper.”

“Thanks.” Stiles swallows hard. “I didn’t hurt her. You know that, right? I admit that when it all started, I didn’t want to be pregnant. I wasn’t ready to be a dad, and you were gone, and besides, we weren’t even really together. But I wanted her in the end. I wanted Maddie.”

“Dr. Deaton didn’t change your vitamins.” Derek’s tone is flat. He sits bent over his legs, elbows on his knees, hands clasped as he stares at the floor. “You’re still taking the ones you’ve been taking since the beginning, the ones you were supposed to take all along. If the nurse gave you something different, she drugged you.”

“She made me go into labor on purpose,” Stiles says slowly. “I haven’t pissed anyone off enough to want to kill me, Derek. Give me some more time to get some high profile clients; then people can come after me. Right now, I’m still small potatoes. No one wants to hurt me.”

“Anyone who listens to you talk for more than five minutes wants to kill you, Stiles,” Derek says dryly.

“Different situation. I’m not talking about people who want to murder me socially because I can’t shut up. I’m talking actual criminal murder, and no one should be trying to do that.” Stiles licks his lips, trying to work it out in his mind. It’s too much information, too much to parse, but Derek’s right. The pills shouldn’t have been different, and therefore he’s right too: Jennifer Blake is the key. And since Jackson’s gone off to find her, everything will be fine soon. They’ll talk to her, arrest her, punish someone for Maddie’s death.

It’s all going to be okay, except for the giant hole in his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: Yes, there is more grief, but we also start switching into the hopeful bits in this chapter.

It’s strange sitting quietly in a hospital room with the father of his child, the man he had once thought he was falling in love with. Stiles feels like he needs to fill the silence, and at the same time, there is something awkwardly comforting about Derek’s silent presence, and the fact that he gives Stiles the space to be on his own. He picks at the bed, trying to think about anything but Maddie. 

Which means, of course, that all he can think about is Maddie.

“Maybe a month ago,” Stiles says softly, “my dad asked me _why Madeline_. It’s obvious why I picked Claudia, but Madeline made no sense to him. So I started quoting the books, and he laughed, because he’d forgotten how much I loved those. When I was little, I remember him saying they were about girls, and Mom telling him to shush while she read them to me, over and over, until I had them memorized. _In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines._ ” He sighs. “ _The smallest one was Madeline_.”

Derek makes a noise, and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s meant to be _shut up_ or _keep going_ so he makes his own choice.

“For a long time, I was small when I was a kid. Scott had asthma, and I was the runt.” He shrugs one shoulder. “With guys like Jackson around it made me the butt of a lot of jokes, but I loved tiny Madeline. And my mom loved reading it to me, so it seemed like it fit to use Madeline with her name. My Maddie.”

The noise this time is a little strangled, and Derek’s hand falls against Stiles’s arm. It’s not because it’s Derek, just that he needs comfort right now. He needs connection. So he turns his hand, holds onto the one that Derek offers, and closes his eyes.

“Distract me,” Stiles orders. “Tell me why you left.”

“Tell me why you didn’t tell me about Maddie,” Derek counters.

“You _left_.” It seems obvious to Stiles. “You walked out and didn’t answer my messages. Why would I bother trying to get this one to you when you didn’t care?”

A low rumble, and Derek squeezes his hand. “I would have cared. I don’t have a lot of living family, and we aren’t the most fertile—”

“Uh, no.” Stiles cuts him off, pulls his hand away as he wedges himself up to sitting. “No, you don’t get to find things out because you care about the _baby_ and not about _me_. I may be an omega, but I’m not some brood mare for you to fuck into pregnancy and then wait to take the kid.”

“That’s not what I meant, Stiles.”

He crosses his arms, refuses to look at Derek. “Really? Because that’s what it sounded like. And you kept in touch with _Isaac_ , but not me. And Isaac never said a word to me. I’m obviously not important.”

“Isaac is…” Derek’s voice trails off, and Stiles has to glance over. He can’t read the expression, shuttered and tangled as Derek’s mouth opens and closes before he finds his words. “Isaac is like family,” he finally says, and Stiles snorts loudly.

“And apparently I was just a fuck before you ran off. Do you see why I didn’t bother to tell you?” Stiles shakes his head. “Derek, if you can’t tell me why you left or where you were for _months_ , why would I trust you with anything about my daughter? You may think she’s _your_ family, but she’s not. She’s _mine_.”

Stiles hiccups over the words, hearing what he says, and his voice cracks when he tries again. “She was mine.”

“Stilinski.” The knock on the door is quick and sharp, barely preceding Jackson opening it and stepping in. He stands like an asshole, legs slightly spread, arms crossed, and Stiles wonders if he’s wearing his gun like that on purpose, just a little bit to the front of his hip, open and obvious.

Stiles nods at the gun. “Are you compensating for something, or just that happy to see me?” he asks dryly.

“There is no Jennifer Blake on record with the nursing agency,” Jackson says curtly. “The only nurse assigned to you that day was one Heather Delacruz, who arrived late for her evening shift and found you bleeding and unconscious, in obvious distress. She explained that you gave her the morning off, telling her that you had help from McCall instead.”

“Which I did,” Stiles says sharply. “Scott hung out with me, got me settled, and then Jennifer Blake showed up for the evening shift. She had an ID. I checked it, Jackson. You know I’m not an idiot.”

“I know you’re still under suspicion in the death of your daughter,” Jackson snaps back. He shifts his stance but doesn’t give ground when Derek makes a noise suspiciously like a growl. “ _There is no Jennifer Blake_ , Stilinski. Get it through your thick head that your ridiculous alibi is obviously fake. We can’t find evidence that doesn’t exist.”

“She was there.” Stiles pushes himself until he’s sitting even further up, swings his legs to the edge of the bed. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me. Let me talk to my dad. Go dust for fingerprints or something. I wasn’t hallucinating, dickwad.”

The machines sound as he pulls his finger free of one of the remaining monitors. Derek winces, coming to his feet, and for a moment Stiles isn’t sure if Derek means to help him stand or push him back into bed.

The point is moot very quickly when he wavers on his feet and suddenly Melissa and another nurse are there, helping him lie back down and hooking up the monitors again.

“I wouldn’t recommend that, Stiles,” Melissa says gently. “You’re still weak. Derek, do _not_ encourage him to get out of bed.”

“I want to see her,” Stiles mutters. He needs to see his baby. He needs to touch her, to be able to let go and say goodbye. “Get a wheelchair if you have to, but take me down to the morgue so I can see my Maddie.”

“That’s not going to be possible.” Jackson’s words are clipped as he flips back a page in his notebook, refers to something there. “Your daughter was cremated shortly after being declared dead. They are waiting on our orders before they release her ashes to your father.”

“What?” Stiles lashes out, feeling like shit when his hand connects with Melissa’s arm and she makes a noise. He tries to push his way out of bed, dimly hearing her say _a little help here, Derek_ before hands push him back against the bed and a needle slides into his arm. “Fuck, no! Jackson, you absolute _fuckwad_ , get my father here and get out of my room. I am telling the _truth_. And _I want to see my daughter_.”

“She’s _dead_ , you idiot. You _killed her_.” Jackson’s facade cracks, a sneer slipping through that disappears at the sound of a low growl reverberating in the room. Stiles has no idea what Jackson sees, but his face goes white as he takes a step back, and suddenly Derek is right there, crowding him out of the room.

Derek slams the door and the silence is abrupt, other than the thick whine and beep of the machines.

Stiles blinks against suddenly tired eyelids. “What did you give me?” he whispers.

“Just something to help you relax and sleep.” Melissa’s hand smooths over his brow, gentle as if she were his own mom. “Stiles, it hurts to lose a child. I _know_ how hard it is, what kind of pain it is, but it’s not Jackson’s fault that he has to ask these questions.”

“My father knows I wouldn’t do that,” Stiles mutters. He falls back, his body too heavy to hold upright anymore. There’s still a strange sound under the machines, thick and heavy, as if someone’s snarling just beyond the edge of his hearing. “I need to talk to Dad.”

“He may not be the one telling Jackson to look into it,” Melissa says quietly. “I’ll call your dad, get him here as soon as I can, I promise. I know you didn’t hurt Maddie on purpose, hon, but she’s gone, and you’re going to need to accept that. Let them do their investigation, stop trying to fight them. It doesn’t look good when you fight.”

Stiles blinks, eyes heavy now, failing him. He lets them drift close, sighs. “Fuck. I just. I wouldn’t. I loved her. I wanted her.” Another sound, and a hiss of breath from Melissa.

“Derek.” Her voice is careful and even. “I think you should step out now. I don’t want anything else to disturb Stiles. He needs his rest.”

“No.” Stiles isn’t sure if he speaks, isn’t even sure why he wants Derek there. He just doesn’t want to be _alone_ right now. He hasn’t been alone for so long, and without Maddie with him, he needs something. Someone. He tries to push his hand out, feels like his fingers are too thick to move, and wonders if that’s Derek that he feels take his hand, wrap it up in something warm.

“I’m not going to disturb him, I promise.” Derek’s voice is low, and it sounds like Melissa lets her breath out in a rush. “Just make sure no one else comes in until his dad gets here.”

“Fine. No one but doctors and nurses.” There’s movement, and a low sound. “I’m off at midnight, Derek, but I’ll be back at eight. Short sleep cycle for me. I’ll check in as soon as I get here.”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Stiles tries to say, and he’s not sure if he gets it right or if he imagines the choked sound Melissa makes before darkness claims him.

#

“…He’ll go home today?”

Stiles blinks his eyes open. “Dad.” His voice croaks and when a straw moves into his vision he sucks at the offered cool water, swallowing against the burn of his throat. He blinks into the light, clearing sleep from his eyes, and manages to smile. “God, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Heard you would’ve killed one of my officers if you could’ve gotten out of bed,” the sheriff says mildly, although Stiles can see the concern in his eyes. When he holds one hand out, his dad moves closer, pulls him up hug him hard, holding on for a long moment.

The bed moves into an upright position before the sheriff lets go of Stiles, and he sinks back against it gratefully. Now that he’s awake, he can see that Dr. Deaton is here as well, but Derek seems to be gone, the only evidence left behind is the jacket over the back of the chair.

“Jackson’s an asshole,” Stiles mutters.

“Jackson is one of our best interrogators—”

“Dad! You don’t actually _believe_ —”

“ _Stiles_.”

He goes silent at the note in his father’s voice, lips pressed thin together. “What?”

“I didn’t send Jackson Whittemore here.” The sheriff’s tone is carefully even. “The call came in while I was off-shift, and Jackson took the case. We’ve determined since that while there are discrepancies, you are not at fault for the death of your daughter, Stiles.”

“But?” Stiles can hear it in his voice, can hear that his father is more _sheriff_ than _dad_ right this moment.

“But you did have drugs in your system that would cause labor,” he says quietly. “The question is how they got there, and there is absolutely no record of the nurse you say you saw. At this time, it looks as if it was accidental.”

Stiles tries to say something, but he doesn’t have the words. “Dad.” He opens his mouth, closes it again before he whimpers faintly. “Daddy. You don’t think… I didn’t…”

“I know.” The sheriff sits down on the edge of the bed, pulls Stiles in. “I know. But it’s not an open case, either. It’s done, Stiles, and I’m sorry.”

“I want to go home,” Stiles whispers. He’s sick of the hospital, sick of these four walls. He wants to get up, shower on his own, walk freely from room to room. He wants to find a life again, and not think about the fact that _this_ is where he lost Maddie. 

“That’s why I’m here,” Deaton says mildly. “If your father would please step out of the room, I only need to conduct a short examination, and I’m certain you’ll be ready for discharge. The only issue that remains is that of care within your home.”

“I’ll be right outside.” The sheriff gives him one more hard hug before he steps out, leaving Stiles with an uncomfortable examination which is, at least, blessedly short. He stares at the ceiling, praying for it to be done and worrying over the words that Deaton said.

“I don’t want a nurse,” Stiles says, when Deaton finally unhooks the last of the machines and helps Stiles sit up on his own, his legs hanging over the edge of the bed. “I don’t want a stranger in my house ever again.”

“You need someone to stay with you for a short while. You’ve been left weak—weaker than you would have been if you’d given birth normally.” Deaton fills out paperwork, hands it to Stiles to sign in three places. “What arrangements had you made for after Madeline’s birth?”

“Scott was going to stay with me, then Lydia had the weekend, and Danny was going to come with her and stay into the week. We figured by that point I’d be okay on my own.” Stiles had arranged everything, but it isn’t time yet. There was supposed to be at least another month, and he knows that Lydia can’t get away yet. “I don’t have a baby going home with me. I can handle myself.”

“You will find it difficult to stand without assistance, until your body rebuilds its reserves.” Deaton smiles thinly. “An omega after birth is vulnerable. Even without a child, you are weak.”

“I’ll stay with him.” The door pushes open and Derek stalks in, the sheriff close behind. 

Because _oh God_ , they met.

Stiles meets his dad’s gaze across the room, tries to answer the _you could have mentioned this_ expression with one of his own, but he has no idea what to say, even without words. “Um.”

“You need help, so I’ll stay with you,” Derek repeats. “I won’t get in the way, and I’ll leave as soon as you’re good on your own. I don’t want you to have a nurse come again.”

Stiles shudders. “I _never_ want to have a nursing service again.” He glances at his dad, and the sheriff shrugs.

“I’m on shift ten hours out of every twenty-four for the next week,” the sheriff says, apologetic. “I get four days off in a row after that, but until then, I’m out of the house almost as much as I’m in it. Melissa’s not much better, and I know she was complaining that Scott doesn’t have any time lately because he overbooked to get ready for when Maddie was supposed to be born.”

“Yeah, this wasn’t exactly in our plans,” Stiles says dryly, trying not to feel the twist of hurt every time her name is mentioned. “So sure, fine, Derek stays with me. On the couch. Anything so I can get the fuck out of here.”

Deaton hands Derek papers to sign as well, and as soon as he has them back he disappears, saying that he’ll send a nurse in with Stiles’s clothes. It gives Stiles time to say goodbye to his father, assure him that if he needs anything at all he’ll call.

It’s not easy, but at least he’s going home now. At least he’s going to have a chance to put it all behind him and find his life again. Even if it’s hard as fuck to put his own clothes on and he has to call Derek back into the room seconds after kicking him out, and stand there, cheeks burning, while Derek helps him dress.

“We need to talk,” Derek murmurs as he helps Stiles shrug into the flannel shirt over his t-shirt.

“Couch,” Stiles says. “You get the couch. I get the bed. There really isn’t anything else to talk about.”

Derek holds up his hand and Stiles goes silent as Derek pulls a wheelchair in from just outside the door. So sure, why not, Stiles sits to take the ride to the front of the hospital, listening to the wheels over the tiled floor.

“It’s not about that,” Derek murmurs as he leans close to him, pushing the chair. “I don’t think Maddie’s dead.”

Stiles’s heart skips a beat, then starts hammering in his chest, his hands clenched on the arms of the chair. It’s a damned good thing he’s already sitting, or he’s sure he would’ve fallen flat on his ass. “You _what_? How? Why?”

“It doesn’t add up.” Derek pushes him through the door as they slide open, stops the wheelchair on the sidewalk. He picks up Stiles and carries him bridal style to a gleaming black Toyota that looks like it’s barely been driven off the lot. He gets him tucked into the passenger seat and buckled in, then goes around to get in the driver’s seat before he starts talking again. “You had a nurse come by that you’d never seen before, and she gave you something that’s known to induce labor. Maddie’s born while you’re unconscious, with no advocate in the room for you, and she’s cremated before you get the chance to even say what you want done with her body. That’s not possible, Stiles. You’re her father; you get to sign the paperwork. You get to choose between cremation and a casket. They’re covering their tracks, which means I think Maddie’s still out there somewhere. We just need to find her.”

The warmth that blooms in his chest is hope. Thick and hot and boiling over, it seeps into his veins and spreads through him, waking him up. Stiles blinks, parsing through Derek’s words before he glances over at him. “You mean that. But why would they go through all this trouble to steal my baby?”

There’s a twitch in Derek’s jaw as it goes tight, and he stares straight ahead at the road, fingers clenched around the steering wheel. “I don’t know,” he says. “But we’ll figure it out, Stiles. We’ll figure out why, and we’ll find out who, and we’ll find Maddie. I promise, she’s not going to be missing for long.”

Stiles grew up with the sheriff, and he learned to read body language at the same time as he learned to read words. Derek’s lying, he’s sure of it. Except he’s not lying about _Maddie_. He believes she’s out there, and he believes they can find her. But there’s something else he’s not saying, and while it’s probably important, Stiles figures it’s not important _right now_.

Maddie’s all that’s important, and if she really is alive, they need to find her before she disappears forever. “They say that the first twenty-four hours are the most important,” Stiles says quietly. “It’s been longer than that already.”

“This isn’t CSI, and it isn’t a police case. I think she’s okay.” Derek flexes his fingers, holds on tight to the steering wheel again. “But we shouldn’t wait, either. We’ll start working on it as soon as we get to your place. Pool our resources. Figure out where to get started.”

“Yeah.” Stiles has his phone in his hand already, with texts going out to Lydia and Danny. They are two of the smartest people he knows, and if anyone can help, they can. He feels more awake—more _alive_ —than he has since he woke up in the hospital. Hope is a powerful thing, and as long as he can believe that Maddie’s out there to be found, he’ll be okay.

Maddie isn’t dead, she’s just missing. And she won’t be missing for long.

#

“Of course we’ll help, Stiles.” The image in Skype is small, but Stiles can still see as Lydia taps her pen against the table, three times exactly before she stops, the tip of it pressed against her list. “We’ll change our tickets, be there this weekend, but I can’t leave before Friday night. We’ll arrive early Saturday on the red-eye out of Boston.”

“In the meantime, you need to give us every piece of information you can so we can look into things.” Danny leans back in the chair, his feet propped on a table somewhere out of view. His mouth quirks in an easy going smile that shows off his dimples.

“That depends on how legal _look into_ is going to be, Danny boy,” Stiles says. His fingers fly over the keyboard and he makes a face when his father’s login to the sheriff’s database fails. “Dad chooses _now_ to change his password? Does he not trust me?”

“No one trusts you, Stiles,” Lydia says, pulling out a pad of paper. “So the sheriff’s files are off limits. What do we have access to?”

“For now,” Danny says. “They’re off limits for now.”

“That’s the Danny I know and love.” Stiles twists to look at Derek who is watching them interact, expression bemused. “I’ve mentioned Danny before—”

“Lydia and Danny, first loves of your life, I remember,” Derek says dryly. 

“Thankfully he got over it,” Lydia tells him. “Stiles is a much better person when he’s not obsessing over impossible relationships.”

“Derek wouldn’t know; we were never really more than fuck-buddies,” Stiles says, ignoring the grunt from behind him. Stiles is going to put a cheery face on this situation, the smile feeling like it’s killing him as much as saying the word _fuck buddy_ does. “And no, you don’t get to talk to each other without me around. This is not an introduction, this is a mystery, and we have a baby to find.”

“What if she isn’t missing?” Lydia asks gently. “Stiles, the official records says she’s dead.”

“The official records are wrong.” His voice is firm because he can’t believe anything else, not since Derek suggested it. It’s easier to pretend to be cheerful as long as he has _hope_. “We’ve been over it, and there are too many holes in the story. Why doesn’t anyone know who Jennifer Blake is? Why would they cremate Maddie without my agreement? Who was the attending nurse at the birth? _Where is my daughter’s body_? If she’s dead, there was a path that her body would have followed, and _it didn’t_. If there’s no path, there’s no body. She’s alive somewhere, and we need to find her.”

Lydia and Danny exchange a look, and Lydia’s lips purse. “Okay, well there are the questions to start with. We’ll need official records, and _no_ , Stiles, do not go to your father. Leave him out of this; he needs to have plausible deniability if anyone starts asking questions. I’ll get Jackson to give me the records, and if he won’t, we have other ways. Danny, you need to get the official hospital information if you can, and if not, we’ll have Scott talk to Melissa. We know she’s on your side, even if she currently believes that Maddie is dead.”

“What about the nursing agency?” Stiles brings up an email and quickly types in the information he remembers, checking his phone to get the number and correct spellings of the nurses’ names. “I’m sending you what I know. And Jennifer Blake flashed a badge at me; I’m not stupid enough to take meds from a stranger who says she’s a nurse, even if she did have a key to my place. But she had a key, and she had a badge.”

“Which makes this pre-meditated,” Lydia says quietly, her fingers lying on the table, still and silent. “Stiles, why would someone _plan_ to steal Maddie? I was thinking it was something spur of the moment, but this sounds like she planned it.”

“Exactly.” Derek’s voice is a soft rumble in the background. “It must have been planned, which means there must be a reason.”

Stiles gets the idea that there’s a piece missing from the story again. It’s in the way Derek clips the edges of the words, the way he says them as if he already knows the answer. “Maybe it doesn’t have to do with me,” he says slowly. “Maybe it has to do with Derek. She belonged to both of us, biologically.” He glances at his ex, notes the way Derek isn’t looking at him at all, and has a feeling he’s on the right track. Or at least that _Derek_ thinks he’s on the right track.

“Okay then, once we find Jennifer Blake we will cross-reference her to both of you as well as your known circle of friends and recent associates,” Danny says. “Stiles, make a list of people you dealt with during your pregnancy—anyone who would know not only that you were pregnant, but everyone who would know Derek’s involvement as well. Be as specific as you can, even if it’s someone you only interacted with very little. For all we know, this could have to do with a waitress at a diner you used to go to during dates, and Stiles kept going when he was on his own and pregnant.”

“That’s… far-fetched.”

Danny grins and it’s disarming enough that Stiles grins back. “I know,” Danny tells him. “And normally I’d say KISS when it comes to generating theories, but around you? The far-fetched tends to be true more often than not. You’re a male omega, Stiles, a one in a thousand chance of something biologically unusual. Nothing about this pregnancy has ever been completely usual.”

“There were two other male omegas in our _class_ , Danny,” Stiles protests. “Maybe it’s something in the water in Beacon Hills. Although you’re right, there’s no one else like _me_. I’m not unusual, I’m _unique_.”

“Very,” Derek says dryly, and Stiles makes a face when Lydia and Danny laugh.

“Fine, fine, make fun of me, but just settle in and _help_ me, too.” Stiles lets the veneer crack, lets his worry show through. He’s pushed aside the gut instinct to keep mourning, the panic over the fact that his baby isn’t _here_. But he’s still terrified that they won’t find her in time, or that they won’t find her at all. “We need to find Maddie soon, guys. She’s out there without me, and you know what it’s like for an omega and their kid. We need each other.”

Derek is closer now, his hand on Stiles’s shoulder, squeezing gently, and it’s far too easy to just lean back into it and take the comfort that is being offered. On the screen, Danny smirks, and Lydia tilts her head, brow furrowing as she regards them.

“Danny, go get hacking,” Lydia says mildly. She flicks her fingers in the air, then points at the door. “In your own room on your own computer. _Go_.” She doesn’t look at him, just watches the monitor expectantly while Danny waves and leaves.

Stiles has no idea what she’s trying to do or say.

The hand on his shoulder squeezes, fingertips moving to lightly brush the side of his neck and cheek, then Derek pulls away. “I’m going out to get some real food. Your fridge is empty except for quick and convenient things, and you could probably use a real dinner. Nap if you need it, Stiles. Your body is still in recovery mode.”

Stiles doesn’t want to admit that he’s wired. That he’s spinning out of control mentally, a side-effect of not having restarted his meds and the fact that he has _hope._ He just nods and tries to look like he _means it_ when he agrees to take it easy. Lydia’s lips purse and her eyebrows rise in an expression that says _honestly, Stiles_ , but at least she doesn’t say anything before Derek leaves.

He raises his finger as soon as Derek’s out the door, then lowers it again when he hears the front door slam and the rev of an engine. His breath rushes out with a whoosh, and he slumps in his chair.

“So that’s Derek Hale,” Lydia says quietly. “I don’t think he’s what I was expecting.”

“Better looking than I deserve?” Stiles says, a wry twist to his mouth. “Already aware of that, Lydia. Very aware. Also very aware that he dumped me without a word and then came running when Isaac told him I was pregnant and possibly dying.”

“That’s right, you met him through Isaac.” Lydia taps perfectly manicured nails against the desk, expression thoughtful. “Isaac dated his… sister?”

“When Isaac and Scott were at school, yeah. I’ve never actually met Cora; she’s always been somewhere else.” Derek doesn’t talk much about his family, and Stiles has never liked to pry into personal things like that. He knows the pain of having to explain that his mother died before he got to middle school, and he can hear the absence of parents in what Derek doesn’t say. He’s never going to push those buttons purposefully.

“He’s quiet.”

“He has his moments where he’s not,” Stiles deadpans, just before his smile turns wry. “Or he had them. Before he walked out without a word. Lydia, he’s not here for me. He’s just here because he heard about Maddie, and if he’s right and she’s missing, we can get her back.”

“And split custody?” Lydia waits just long enough for that to get through to Stiles and twist in his gut. Her expression gentles. “Stiles, you need to figure out what to do about him now, before he gets under your skin again. I know you, and you don’t let go easily, and somewhere in the back of your mind you find the fact that he came back for you highly romantic.”

Stiles chews on his lower lip because she’s got him there. He can’t deny that he’s a sucker for the kind of movies where there are declarations made when one half of the couple is on their death bed. For all that he’s intensely independent, he’s also a sucker for a caretaker alpha, and someone who’s willing to put up with a mouthy omega like him.

Derek’s playing into Stiles’s type perfectly.

He just can’t let himself care.

“I’ll be okay, Lydia, I promise. It’s not like I don’t already know what he’s like. Besides, what’s he going to do, seduce me?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I gave birth a few days ago. I’m not having sex for a month at this point. If _ever_. Pregnancy sucks.”

“That’s why I’m going to find a surrogate,” Lydia tells him. “I am not enduring pregnancy. Besides, my chosen platonic life partner is gay, and the love of my life is pretending I don’t exist. I’m going to have to live vicariously through your children, Stiles, which has the advantage of them not waking me up in the middle of the night, as well as being able to give them back to you at any time. Please, feel free to have more. I’ll be happy to spoil them.”

Stiles opens his mouth, closes it and raises his finger. “I am not reproducing for your entertainment,” he says.

Lydia only smiles. “I know. I just want you to know that I’m as invested in Maddie’s welfare as you are. I’m sorry we can’t be there yet, but we’ll get there as soon as we can, I promise. And in the meantime, we’ll get information. You just take care of yourself. Rest, recover, and above all, don’t fall in love.”

“Been there, almost did that, don’t plan on doing it again.” Stiles keeps his tone light, but it’s _true_. He won’t let himself go down that road. This is about his daughter, not about Derek, and when it’s over, Derek can move on. Stiles carried Maddie, and Derek just happened to provide the seed before he disappeared. He doesn’t need to stick around now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is, of course, quoting the children's book _Madeline_ in this chapter.
> 
> Happy Sunday! I've been itching to post this for DAYS now. Thank you all for reading; I hope that you're enjoying it, especially as we turn the corners into the hopeful bits. I'll see you again on Sunday, June 21st, for chapter three! If you're looking for me in the meantime, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been months since Stiles last had dinner at the kitchen table, sitting upright in the hard-backed chair, with the table actually laid out in matching plates and proper silverware. He sits while Derek ladles soup into bowls, then brings over a big basket of bread and two glasses of water. Stiles looks at the water, then glances at the fridge, wondering if all his drinks are gone, or if maybe there’s a bottle of beer buried in the back somewhere. After all, he doesn’t need to avoid alcohol anymore.

“You’re already tired and still recovering.” Derek puts a hand on Stiles’s shoulder before he can manage to stand up. “Drink water. It’s better for you.”

“Even Deaton let me have something good once in a while,” Stiles mutters. He dips his spoon into the soup, picking up broth, vegetables, and chicken, all sprinkled with a smattering of cheese. It’s fragrant, with rosemary and thyme, and when he sips it, the heat spreads through him. “Chicken soup, huh?”

“Heals all ills.” Derek breaks off a chunk of bread and dips it into the bowl, catching the drops of soup that drip from it with his tongue before he eats it. “It’s one of the first things my mother taught us to cook.”

“My mother taught me to make pierogi,” Stiles responds quietly. He doesn’t look at Derek, instead paying attention to the slice of bread that he is methodically tearing into pieces, dropping them in his soup. He likes his soup thick with crackers or bread, and he stirs them in, watching little bits of butter float off as the bread cubes slowly drown in the broth.

“I’ve never had homemade pierogi.” 

“I haven’t made them in a while.” Stiles can count on one hand the number of times he’s made them since his mother’s death. Once, when his grandmother came for the funeral. He stood at her side, still barely able to reach the counter, and painstakingly helped her make enough for a crowd. Once, on the first anniversary of her passing, and his father refused to even look at the plate, drinking his way into a stupor for the night. And one last time, on the day he graduated from high school, because his mother had always promised that she would make them for special occasions.

He hasn’t made them since.

“I used to make soup for Laura and Cora whenever they got sick.” Derek is somehow quiet as he eats his soup, not slurping the broth from the spoon, unlike Stiles. “Laura was in charge of lasagna, and Cora makes meatballs when she needs comfort food. Or macaroni and cheese, or sometimes both.”

Stiles parses out the tenses, the fact that Laura must have survived past Derek’s parents, but is now in the past tense, while Cora is still present. “I’ve never met Cora,” he says idly. “I’ve heard about her from Isaac, but not much. It’s not like we’re close.”

“Isaac thinks you’re jealous of his relationship with Scott.” Derek raises an eyebrow.

Stiles is man enough to admit it. “Isaac is right. I’ve been friends with Scott since we were five and I peed on his sandcastle. There is _nothing_ that is going to come between a friendship like that, not even someone like Isaac. Scott and I were platonic soulmates long before Isaac arrived on the scene.”

Derek taps his spoon in the bowl, the clinking loud and annoying to Stiles’s ears. “Isaac would never take him away from you permanently,” he finally says, and Stiles snorts.

“But he would happily take him temporarily,” Stiles says dryly. “We’ve had the conversation. There’s this thing that Isaac wants Scott to go to in the summer, some family thing in South America. Says it will change Scott’s life. He’s invited him to it three summers in a row now, and Scott’s said no each time because Isaac won’t let me come.”

“And this summer?”

Stiles presses his lips together. “Isaac hasn’t asked yet, as far as I know, so Scott hasn’t said no yet. And he’ll say no. Of course he’ll say no.” At least Stiles hopes he will, because every time it comes up, he gets the feeling that if Scott goes to this thing without him, Stiles and he will never fit together the same way again. “What family does Isaac have, anyway? His dad’s in jail, his brother went missing, and his mom died. It’s the one thing we have in common.” 

That was more than he meant to say, the taboo topic of parental death lying there on the table between them. It seems gauche to talk about in the wake of everything that’s happened with Maddie, as if old grief and new grief can’t be in the same room together.

“Family means different things to different people,” Derek says calmly. “It’s an extended family gathering, so Cora and I will be there. And other people we consider family.”

It isn’t the chastisement that Stiles was expecting for being rude about Isaac’s situation. “I get that,” he says. “Friends being family is a big part of my life. Scott’s like a brother to me, and his mom’s like my mom. Which is why I really don’t want to lose him to Isaac.” He sounds peevish and whiny to his own ears, and a part of him wants to chalk it up to exhaustion, but he also knows he always sounds like this where Isaac is concerned. He huffs a sigh and goes back to eating quietly, letting the warmth of the soup curl in his stomach comfortably.

Derek sets his spoon in his empty bowl, mops up the last of the broth with another piece of bread. “Isaac won’t take Scott away from you.” There’s a sense of _I won’t let him_ in his words that Stiles doesn’t really understand.

He laughs, just a little, and tries not to let it sound bitter. “Hey, there’s one thing I have to thank Isaac for, right? Without him, I never would have met you.”

Derek’s eyes go shadowed, and Stiles looks away. He totally failed. That was _definitely_ bitter.

“You’re still recovering.” Derek pushes his chair out from the table and stands, offering Stiles a hand. Stiles avoids it, tries to stand on his own and wobbles unexpectedly until Derek puts an arm around him and keeps him steady. “You need sleep,” Derek says softly. 

“Yeah, well, I apparently also need a new pair of legs and I’m getting maudlin about losing my best friend,” Stiles snaps back. He takes a tentative step and wonders when his legs went offline and how long it’s going to be before he feels like he used to, before he was pregnant.

Derek wedges an arm behind his shoulders and another under his legs and lifts him into a bridal carry. Stiles has no choice but to throw his arms around his neck and lean in, holding on for balance as Derek strides from the room in a ridiculous show of strength.

“Idiot,” Stiles mutters; he can feel Derek’s silent laugh in the way his shoulder’s move under Stiles’s hands.

Stiles stretches out on the bed as soon as he’s in it, rolling over and tucking the pillow under his chin. It feels good to let go and relax, sinking into the mattress to let it take his weight.

“It isn’t easy to lose people.” There’s a dip in the mattress next to him and Stiles twists his head to see Derek sitting there, pillows propped against the wall behind him, glasses perched on his nose.

He’s never seen Derek in glasses before, and he likes the view. It’s not helping his resolve.

“What are you doing?”

“Email.” Derek holds up a tablet, the email client on the screen and filled with unread messages. “A little bit of work I need to do. It didn’t seem like you should be alone right now, if you’re maudlin.”

He’s right. Stiles feels more comfortable with the weight of a body next to him, the reminder that not _everyone_ is gone. Or that sometimes they come back, because Derek _left_. He snorts softly, unable to find the right words, and burrows under the blankets. “Don’t think this means you’re forgiven,” he mutters, and it’s quiet enough that Derek shouldn’t hear it, spoken to his pillow, but then Derek puts a hand on Stiles’s hip, on top of the blankets, and he wonders if maybe he did hear it after all.

“Sleep,” Derek orders, and after a time, Stiles does.

#

By morning, Stiles is moving better. He manages to get up and shower on his own while Derek makes breakfast, and if he stumbles a little in the hall, Derek doesn’t mention it. He realizes that he tires easily, so in the end he’s not moving much more than he did when he was pregnant, finding a place and staying there for a while until it’s time to move on.

It’s almost easy with Derek in the apartment. Stiles has his own work to keep him occupied, and Derek is doing whatever he does on his laptop. They work side by side in silence broken by the occasional reading aloud of a funny Facebook or Tumblr post. When the doorbell rings, Stiles is ready for a break and pushes himself up off the couch, making it to the door before Derek can block him from it, and yanking it open.

“Scott!” Stiles opens his arms and Scott pulls him in, hugging him hard and patting his back. They stand there until Isaac clears his throat, and they break apart, Stiles moving backwards into the house and dragging Scott with him.

“Jealous of a little affection?” Stiles asks.

“You were blocking my way into the house.” Isaac lifts his chin when he sees Derek, the action acknowledged with a rise of Derek’s eyebrows. “Unless that’s your way of saying you don’t want me here.”

“If I don’t want you here, I have no problems saying it to your face,” Stiles tells him. “But I won’t, for both Scott’s and Derek’s sake. On the other hand, it doesn’t mean I want to be social with you, either.”

Derek grips Isaac’s shoulder, yanks him hard toward the door into the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I have something I need to discuss with Isaac. You can spend all the time you want with Scott.”

Stiles watches as they disappear into the kitchen and shakes his head. “That wasn’t suspicious at all,” he mutters.

“Life would be easier if you just tried to like Isaac.” Scott falls back onto the couch, moving things on the coffee table so he can put his feet up. Stiles quickly rescues the piles of paperwork, dividing them into his and Derek’s, while Scott keeps talking. “I mean, both me and Derek like Isaac, so if you’re letting Derek back into your life, you’re going to be getting a double-dose of Isaac.”

“It’s Isaac’s fault that he’s here in the first place.” Stiles settles into the space Scott has left him, nudging him with his elbow. “And I haven’t forgotten that you told Isaac what happened to me. Didn’t you think to tell him _not_ to give updates on me to Derek? Maddie was _mine_. Derek left, and he didn’t want anything to do with her.”

“Isaac says Derek didn’t even know.” Scott’s frown makes Stiles feel seriously judged, like he’s disappointed his best friend. “How could you not tell him?”

“He stopped talking to me, so it wasn’t like I could _say_ anything,” Stiles says, tone flat. “You were here for it, Scott. If Isaac wanted to be helpful, he could’ve been helpful when Derek ditched, not eight months later. Not the time or the place for it, okay?”

“I worry about you, buddy.” Scott squeezes his knee. “You were wrecked when Derek left, and now he’s what, living here? What’s going to happen when he leaves this time?”

“You’re acting like we’re back together, and we’re not. We’re just looking for Maddie together.”

“And when you find her? Shared custody?”

First Lydia, now Scott. Stiles still doesn’t want to think that far ahead because he honestly doesn’t know the answer. There are laws in place for when an omega doesn’t notify an alpha of a pregnancy, and it isn’t always favorable for the omega. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. There’s no point in worrying about it now. We have to _find_ her first.”

When his phone rings, Stiles pulls it out and briefly checks the number before he answers, “Stiles Stilinski.” He’s surprised at the voice he hears saying hello in return. “Oh, hey Heather. I thought you were going to be one of your bosses.” He flicks the phone to speaker, mentioning that he has his best friend Scott with him.

“Stiles, I am _so_ sorry about what happened to you.” He can hear tears in her voice, making it thick and tight. “They just called me in and told me everything, and I’m so sorry. I should have been there, but I called in sick because I was just so miserable from going out the night before. I mean, I knew I didn’t need to check in with you in the morning, so I figured one night out wouldn’t matter, but then I met this amazing woman and we hit it off, and I don’t even remember what we drank. When I woke up in the morning, I was a wreck and my head was pounding, so I called in that I was going to miss all of my morning appointments and went back to sleep. I woke up later than I meant to and was late getting to your place.”

Stiles stares at the phone in his hand. This all happened because his regular nurse had a one night stand? “Hey, don’t worry about it.” He tries to keep his voice light. “You didn’t know someone was going to pretend to be a nurse and poison me.”

“Is that what happened?” There’s shock in her voice. “When I found you, you were bleeding out in hard labor. They told me afterward that your baby died and you almost died with her. I had no idea!”

Stiles glances at Scott, who shrugs one shoulder in return. Scott has a point, they don’t know, but Stiles might as well ask. “Do you know a nurse named Jennifer Blake?” Stiles asks.

There’s silence on the other end of the phone, long enough that Stiles wonders at first if they’ve lost the connection.

“Heather?” he asks carefully.

“I don’t know a _nurse_ named Jennifer Blake.” She hesitates before adding. “The woman I met was named Jennifer, though. She wasn’t a nurse, just this hot schoolteacher in a pencil skirt, with long legs that wouldn’t quit. Which I would say is more information than you need to know, but I remember a certain conversation—”

“We said we are never speaking of that again,” Stiles says quickly, because he remembers that conversation as well. “There were extenuating circumstances and drugs that loosened my tongue. On the other hand, we did bond well.”

“We did.” There’s a smile in her words.

“So what did your hot schoolteacher look like?” Scott asks, his head tilted as he listens. He pokes at Stiles, and gestures at the phone.

“Taller than me, looked good in a pencil skirt and heels. Long curly hair, and like I said, totally hot. She had the kind of smile that makes you think she’s sweet, but she was definitely a hell raiser in bed.”

“TMI, Heather.” It’s an automatic response, giving Stiles time to go over the description in his mind because it sounds like Heather’s Jennifer and his might be the same person. And if Jennifer Blake was at Heather’s house while Heather was passed out… “Heather, would it have been possible for Jennifer to get her hands on my key while she was with you? Or your ID to copy?”

“Why would she copy my ID? And I still have my key to your place—I can drop that by any time you’d like, if you want.”

It makes Stiles’s skin crawl to think that there’s a key still out there. Not just the one Heather has, but the one Jennifer has as well.

“We’ll change your locks.” Derek’s voice is a surprise to Stiles, and he looks up to see both Derek and Isaac in the doorway. “As long as Jennifer’s got a key, it’s not safe.”

“Do you think it’s the same Jennifer?” Heather asks.

“Might be.” Stiles can’t tell for sure, not without pictures and he’s not sure he trusts Heather’s memory of events. It sounds like she was pretty much pickled that night. The part he still doesn’t understand is why him, and why his baby? He pokes at the arm of the couch while watching Isaac move around the living room, his head lifted and nostrils flared like he’s inhaling nasty fumes.

“The place doesn’t smell that bad does it, Isaac?” Stiles asks dryly, and Heather laughs on the other end of the line.

“It sounds like you have company,” she says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.”

“Actually, I think you helped a lot,” Stiles admits. “Thanks for calling. And just… throw away the key. It won’t work soon anyway. Unless you want to keep it as a memento of your favorite patient.”

“I might do that.” Another smile in her voice as it gentles. “Goodbye, Stiles. And good luck.”

“Thanks.” He’s going to need that luck, and probably more. He touches the _end_ button, and pushes the phone away. “So maybe we know how Jennifer got the key to my place, but it doesn’t answer why she’d bother. None of this makes sense.”

Derek sits on the arm of the couch next to Stiles, but he’s looking at Isaac who still moves slowly around the room. “Where did Jennifer go while she was in the house?”

It’s foggy in Stiles’s mind, and he closes his eyes as if he could envision it. “Here, my room, the kitchen. She might have gone other places—she helped me get to the bathroom, but she didn’t come in with me—but I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t exactly following her around.”

“I’m going in your room.” Isaac doesn’t give him a chance to object, simply heading down the hall while Derek puts a hand on Stiles’s shoulder.

“I’m not really in favor of this plan, whatever it is, if it involves Isaac in my personal space,” Stiles says dryly.

“He wants to help,” Scott tells him. “You’re important to me, and you’re important to Derek.”

“I’m important to you anyway.” Stiles can agree with that. “What are you looking for, anyway?”

Derek squeezes his shoulder before standing up. “Clues. Something you might not have noticed that might be apparent to us because we don’t live here.”

Stiles wants to ask _what_ but Derek is gone before he gets the chance.

“Sometimes Isaac gets cryptic,” Scott says, commiserating. 

Stiles counters, “Sometimes Isaac is an asshole. But he’s your asshole, so this time I won’t object to him being in my room. I don’t think they’re going to find anything there other than laundry and probably more of my stuff from work. It’s not like they’ve got fingerprint kits to check to see if she touched anything.”

“We could ask your dad for a fingerprint kit,” Scott suggests.

“Entertaining, and okay, I might actually have one in a closet somewhere from when we were thirteen,” Stiles admits. “But not useful, since we don’t have her fingerprints for comparison, and there have been enough people through this place touching things that it’s probably all jumbled.”

“What about a hair for DNA?”

“I don’t have a sequencer,” Stiles deadpans, and Scott laughs.

It’s not like they’re getting anywhere—and it’s not like Derek and Isaac are going to solve this by sniffing around his bedroom, either—but at least it lifts his spirits and makes him laugh.

Strangely enough, just knowing that Jennifer possibly got to him through Heather helps. And knowing that they’ll change the locks soon is good as well; Stiles feels exposed now that he’s realized that there’s a key out there. Especially since he still doesn’t know why this is happening to _him_.

#

Derek heads out to get a new lock for the door, and when Stiles tries to go with him, Derek insists that he stay home with Isaac and Scott. An hour later, when Derek’s not back yet and Stiles is lying sprawled on the couch, his feet in Scott’s lap, he’s glad he didn’t go. “I’m fucking wiped out,” he mutters, and Scott pats his shin to console him.

“You gave birth, dude,” Scott says.

“And almost died while doing it.” Isaac tilts his soda in a silent toast. “Give yourself time to recover, or Derek’s going to end up tying you to the bed.”

“Not an image I need in my head.” Scott throws a hand out, obviously aiming to cover Isaac’s mouth except Isaac ducks away smirking.

“Not going to happen,” Stiles says dryly because as appealing as sex with Derek _was_ , it’s not a current thing. Nor does the idea of being trapped in his house appeal to him after having spent time on bed rest (and look how _that_ turned out). “Don’t worry about me, I’ll sleep when I need to sleep—I’ve always been good at that—and I’ll heal, and I’ll be out of this house and annoying you all sooner rather than later. Besides, I need to be able to get out so we can find Maddie.”

“Dude, we are going to find her.” Scott leans in, squeezing Stiles’s shoulder, but it’s Isaac’s expression that pulls Stiles’s attention in.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes, like a bright yellow light that dims quickly as Isaac ducks his head, staring at the floor.

Scott misinterprets the way Stiles is looking at Isaac. “Don’t worry about him,” Scott says, elbowing Stiles lightly. “Isaac will help, too. He can’t help being an asshole occasionally any more than you can.”

“It’s a good thing you have a thing for assholes,” Isaac says, his tone lighter than his expression, and both Scott and Stiles snort.

Stiles may not like Isaac, but he can appreciate his sense of humor.

A yawn shudders through him, leaving him shivering on the sofa. He hates the way the world starts to spin when he’s exhausted, like he can’t keep it still a moment longer. When Scott tosses a blanket over him, Stiles simply curls into it, stretching out on the couch as Scott vacates the space, and he yawns again.

“I don’t want to leave you here alone,” Scott says. “Not with the locks. Isaac and I are going to be in the kitchen until Derek gets back.”

“I don’t care if you play video games right here; I’m going to sleep.” Stiles waves a hand at the television, but he doesn’t wait around to see what they decide to do. It doesn’t matter. Stiles is the kind of person who could sleep through a fire alarm (and _has_ , many times, back in college), and as soon as he closes his eyes, the rest of the world is gone.

He opens his eyes to the feel of being lifted into the air, the blanket still wrapped around him like a cocoon. As he’s placed on the bed, Stiles reaches out, grabs on and tangles his fingers with the other person’s hand.

 _Derek’s_ hand.

Is it weird that he knows the shape of that palm and those fingers? That he knows the size, the little divots from small scars, the lines and shape that make it _Derek_. He holds on, pulls the hand toward his chest, and feels Derek sit on the edge of the bed.

“Stiles,” Derek says softly.

“Mph.” Stiles doesn’t want to talk. He just wants to sleep, and he wants to be comfortable, and he doesn’t want to think about being alone. If he’s alone, he could dream. He could remember bits and pieces about Jennifer, about labor, about _Maddie_. The worst dreams in the last day have been the ones where he still feels pregnant, where he can feel her moving and when he wakes up, she’s just gone. “Stay.”

“You’re not thinking.” Derek manages to get his hand free, resettles it on Stiles’s shoulder, gently massaging. “You’re exhausted.”

“M’awake.” For definitions of awake that include his eyes being closed and mind gently floating. “Lock?”

Derek huffs a low sigh. “I got a new deadbolt and lock, and I have enough keys for you and Scott, and either a spare set or you can give one set to me while I’m here.”

“You.” It’s an easy decision when Stiles feels like this, leaning into the warmth of Derek’s body. He’s always so _hot_ , so good to lie next to in the cold weather. Stiles sighs and wriggles closer, grabbing his hand again and hugging it close.

“Stiles.” There’s a note of warning in Derek’s voice.

“Stay.”

Another long sigh, and Derek stretches out behind him, letting Stiles keep the one arm wrapped around him. “Just promise me you won’t regret this and punch me in the morning,” Derek mutters.

“Won’t,” Stiles assures him. He lies there and lets his body go loose and limp, relaxing into Derek’s presence. His mind floats, not quite asleep but not awake either, drifting on the edge of the dreamlands.

“I went looking for her,” Derek murmurs, maybe to Stiles or maybe just to himself; Stiles isn’t sure and he really doesn’t care. “I could smell her in your room. I went to see Heather, so I knew what was her and what was Jennifer. She has a distinctive scent, strong notes. But I couldn’t follow her. Couldn’t find her. It’s like she left your place and simply disappeared. And the hospital has too much going on; the bleach and antiseptic soap make it impossible. I’ll have to try again tomorrow. I know she’s out there. And I know she knows I’ll be looking.”

Derek’s not making any sense, but Stiles will let him ramble. It’s not like Stiles knows any better how to go about this, but he’s pretty sure _perfume_ isn’t the clue that will break the case. He inhales deeply, lets it go, and whispers, “Tomorrow.”

It almost feels like there’s a kiss behind his ear, and he doesn’t hear Derek’s whisper in return, just feels the movement of lips against his skin as he tumbles into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The heavy angst is lifting and progress is being made on all fronts! Yay!
> 
> So, I finished drafting chapter 8 yesterday, which means I only have two more chapters to draft before this is completed. That may take me another month, however, so maybe around the time I'm posting chapter 6 or 7 we will be able to go to a quicker posting schedule. *fingers crossed*
> 
> If I ever post something and you think it needs an additional tag, please let me know! I sometimes am posting while half awake and forget what's in a chapter, and I do apologize for that.
> 
> The next chapter will post on Sunday, June 28th, and may be later in the day because things are going to be a bit chaotic next weekend. In the meantime, thank you so much for reading and commenting, and remember, you can always find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles wakes to the sound of his computer alerting him to a call over Skype. It stops and he sighs, stretching, curling into the warmth of the body next to him and trying to find sleep again.

When it starts all over again, Derek rumbles, “I am going to hurl that thing across the room.”

“Don’t.” Stiles rolls to the edge of the bed, throws his feet over and yanks his laptop off the table to set it on his lap. He taps the keyboard and a window opens up to show Danny looking far too awake for how asleep Stiles feels.

Danny grins. “Do I spy someone else sleeping in your bed?” His dimples sink deeper as the grin widens when Derek moves.

“He’s not sleeping because you woke us up.” Stiles pushes at his hair, rubs at his eyes. “Make this good, Danny, because it’s what, four in the morning?”

“Seven here.” Danny reaches for a piece of paper, holds it up, and Stiles sees Jennifer Blake smiling at him. “Is this your nurse?”

Stiles is stiff, fingers clenched on the edge of the laptop. “Yeah.” His voice comes out hoarse. “That’s her. You found Jennifer Blake.”

“Actually, I found Julia Baccari.” Danny drops the paper to one side, his face coming back into view. “It took some tracing to prove it, but Jennifer Blake is definitely an alias, and _that_ is Julia. Oh hello, Derek.” Danny smirks as Derek presses in close behind Stiles, one hand on Stiles’s hip.

“Show us the picture again,” Derek orders.

“You never saw her, so what does it matter?” Stiles twists as the picture is brought into view, looking at Derek. He takes in the flare of his nostrils, the way his eyes open, then narrow. The thin press of his lips. “Unless you _know_ her.”

“I don’t know Jennifer Blake.” Derek’s tone is flat, and Stiles has spent enough time reading people to know that he’s lying. Or rather, skewing the truth.

It doesn’t taste good on his tongue when he has to say, “Yeah, well, obviously you don’t know Jennifer Blake. Julia Baccari is a different story, isn’t it.” It’s not a question, not the way he says it, and the answering twitch in Derek’s expression is enough of an answer for Stiles.

He turns away from Derek, very specifically turns his back on him while shoving his hand away from his hip. Stiles refuses to analyze the expression on Danny’s face. “So, Danny, did you dig up anything useful other than her name? Places she might be hiding? People she associates with? A job as an adoption goddess?”

“I have an entire file on her.” Danny speaks slowly, his eyes looking past Stiles’s shoulder. “I can email it to you. Is there anything else you want me to look into while I’m in research mode?”

“Given that research mode for you means you probably haven’t slept since we last spoke, no.” Stiles makes a motion with his hand, flicks his fingers at Danny. “Go. Use that bed of yours after you send me the file. I want to go through it, see if her path normally crosses with anyone else involved in this.” 

Danny’s gaze falls on Stiles, watching him for a long moment, then he very deliberately looks toward Derek and back. “If there’s anyone else you want me to look into, just let me know,” he says quietly. “I’m happy to go hunting.”

Danny is about as subtle as a brick, and Stiles feels more than hears a low rumble of a growl behind him. “I’m fine,” Stiles says as calmly as he can. “I’ll talk to you soon. Thanks for sending the information.”

“Any time.” 

The screen goes dark, and a moment later Stiles sees a new email pop up with an attachment from Danny. He wants to open it more than anything. He wants to print it out, go through the information with a fine tooth comb and figure this out.

But first he has to deal with something more important.

He slides off the bed, standing up so that he has a small bit of height on Derek as he jabs his finger at his chest. “How the _hell_ do you know Jennifer Blake?”

“I don’t know Jennifer Blake.”

Stiles laughs, no mirth in the sound. “No. _No_. You don’t get to play word games with me. You want me to cross-examine you? Fine. _How do you know Julia Baccari_? Just answer the question, Derek. How the _hell_ do you know the woman who tried to poison me? The one who made me go into early labor, who nearly killed me and my daughter. How the _hell_ do you know the woman who stole Maddie?”

Derek doesn’t say anything, and Stiles can almost see the way he’s rolling through words in his mind, trying to find the right way through this conversation. It makes him sick, seeing Derek behave like an evasive witness.

“Fuck you,” Stiles whispers. “This isn’t the first time you’ve lied to me since the hospital. I thought you were just leaving something small out, like you’re the heir to some fortune and the kidnappers think they can get money if they ask for ransom. But it’s obviously not that. It’s obviously _personal_.”

Derek’s gaze drops, and Stiles knows he’s nailed it.

It doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Just tell me the fucking _truth_ , Derek.” Stiles grabs at his desk chair, pulls it close and sinks onto it. “Tell me the truth so we can start laying out _all_ the evidence and find my daughter.”

“Our daughter.”

Stiles laughs again. “No. I’ve already told you, you have _no claim_ on Maddie. Not after you left. We are finding _my_ daughter and future visitation rights can be negotiated later, _after_ I decide if I can even trust you with her. After all, it’s obviously your fault she’s been taken in the first place.”

Derek flinches, and again, Stiles knows he’s right. It really should feel better than it does.

“I knew Julia Baccari when I was younger,” Derek says slowly. “She looked just like that then; she hasn’t aged in twenty years.”

“Okay, she’s got great skin care. This isn’t helping yet, Derek.” Stiles kicks out against the bed, uses the force to spin the chair back and forth.

“She worked for someone my mother knew. Maybe she still does.” Derek glances up at Stiles. “We have a unique bloodline.” The words look like they cost him to say. “It’s the kind of thing someone like Julia would do anything to get her hands on.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this _before_ getting me pregnant?” Stiles throws his hands wide, rolls his eyes. “Nice, dude. Nice.”

“You getting pregnant wasn’t in the plan,” Derek says dryly. “Last I knew we were just fucking—your words, I believe—not setting up a home together. If we’d actually had a _relationship_ , I would have told you eventually.”

“When?” Stiles tilts his head. “And what, exactly, would you have told me? That you’re a prince? That you… you know what? I can’t even _think_ of something that would make you important enough that your kid, one you didn’t even _know_ about, would be kidnapped.”

“Stiles…”

“No, I really want to know.” Stiles comes up from the chair, pushes it away before stalking forward, leaning over Derek and jabbing him with his finger again. “What the hell is so _special_ about you that someone would go through the trouble of killing your ex and stealing a kid you happened to contribute genetics to?”

Derek’s growl is already building through his words, and it explodes into almost a roar by the time Stiles is done. Derek is off the bed, pushing Stiles back, putting space between them, his lip lifted in a snarl. “You want the truth? _Fine._ I’m a _werewolf_ and Julia Baccari is the emissary for a rival pack and they want Hale blood.”

Stiles blinks, because he _knows_ that Derek can’t be telling the truth.

And what a fucking lie it is.

“Werewolf? Dude.” He shakes his head, turns away and starts pulling things out of his bureau so he can get dressed. There is no way he’s getting back to sleep, and he might as well dress now and go lounge on the couch. “If you’re going to keep lying to me, you could at least _try_ to make some sense of it.”

He hears another growl behind him, but he isn’t going to dignify it with a response. He waves one hand, pushes back on Derek without looking when he gets close. “No. Leave me alone. You can stay here for now because I’m not enough of an ass to throw you out at four in the morning. But when it’s light out? You’re leaving because I am _not_ letting you stay in my place until you’re willing to come clean.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Werewolves. What the fuck do you think of me?”

He slams out of the room, the door closing with a sharp thunk behind him. He hears another angry sound behind the door, like Derek’s roaring or howling or _fuck_ maybe the dude really does believe he’s a werewolf. Stiles knows better. He’s read all the fantasies, but he knows the difference between fantasy and reality and _this_ is reality.

He doesn’t need to get involved in ridiculous fairy tales. All he needs is his daughter back.

#

Stiles settles in on the couch and doesn’t move when Derek walks through the room on the way to the door. He doesn’t say a word when it opens and closes with a final thunk, and at just past four in the morning, Stiles is alone in his home.

With a lock that someone has a key to, and no idea how to change it.

Fuck.

He picks up the phone and dials the hospital. “Hey, Megan, can I talk to Melissa McCall? Yeah, it’s Stiles.” He has to laugh at the voice on the other end, her motherly words as she calls him Melissa’s other son. It’s enough to make him smile for a moment until Melissa picks up the line. “Hey, Mom,” he says and he hears the soft smile in her voice at his teasing when she replies.

“Hello, Stiles. How are you feeling?”

Like shit, but she doesn’t need to know the details. “I’m okay. It’s going to take time.” The words are neutral enough that she doesn’t know he means _to find her_ rather than _to get over her_. “I was just wondering—I need some closure. And I was wondering if Dr. Morell is on duty tonight?”

“Let me just check the roster.” There’s a sound of papers, then the click of keys. “She is—she’s on obstetrics and on call for emergency. Did you want to talk to her? I don’t know if she’s on rounds right now.”

“No, no, that’s cool.” Stiles spent enough time around the hospital growing up that he knows the schedule by heart, and as long as she’s on an eight hour shift instead of a twelve, she should be finishing up soon. It gives him time to hop through the shower, make sure he’s cleaned up and presentable before he catches up with her. “You on a twelve or an eight? I could bring you breakfast if you’re stuck there for another few hours.”

“You don’t have to do that, Stiles.” He can hear the fond exasperation in her voice, and he wonders if she’ll warn Morell or just let Stiles catch her unawares. He hopes for the latter. “But if you happen to swing by the diner, they know my order.”

“Two egg omelet with broccoli, spinach, cheddar and bacon with a side of fresh fruit and a coffee with one shot of caramel and cream,” Stiles says easily. He’s known her order through all its various incarnations over the years. “I’ll drop it off as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.” There’s a moment’s hesitation before her voice comes again, just as he’s thinking he should hang up. “You know you should be sleeping, right, Stiles? I know grief is hard—”

“I’m okay.” He doesn’t let her get too far down that road. “Someone woke me up with a Skype call and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I swear, I’m not going off the ADHD deep end or something, it’s just typical sleep interruption. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

She doesn’t agree right away, and Stiles can imagine the worried look on her face. He sighs when she says nothing, and he resorts to a little emotional manipulation to reassure her. “I’ll see you soon, Mom.”

“See you soon.”

He sets the phone next to his keys and his wallet, figures he’ll get something from the diner for himself while he’s there. It doesn’t take long to shower and make himself look presentable, aside from the dark circles under his eyes. He feels weird pulling on a normal t-shirt and still wearing his maternity jeans, but his old ones don’t fit yet, even though these are too big and remind him of Maddie. He pauses in front of the mirror, pulls the shirt up and jeans down, and stares at the loose skin of his stomach and wonders how long it will take to go back to normal.

He knew this would happen, knew what he was getting into, but it doesn’t make it any easier to see his body look so alien.

He calls the diner on the way there and puts the order in so all he has to do is pay when he gets there. He cheerily promises to pass along Mrs. Simms’s greetings to Melissa before he can escape. He pauses in the parking lot of the hospital to scarf down a ham and egg and cheese on a thick homemade biscuit with a side of curly fries, wondering if he looks as demented as he feels, cramming it into his mouth and chewing fast. It tastes _good_ , but he needs to be somewhere else right now, so all he wants to do is finish.

Stiles spots Morell coming out just as he’s finishing up. He met her on his tour of the hospital—they introduced the pregnant parents-to-be to the emergency staff, just in case, because you never knew if you’d get your own OB or another. He had learned then that she was the leading staff member on obstetrics for dealing with emergency procedures in male omegas, better even than his own Dr. Deaton. But at the same time, he’d never expected to end up with her delivering his child.

He spills out of the car, tries to regain control of his arms and legs as he stumbles forward, calling her name. She turns, a frown creasing her brow as she looks through the early dawn light toward him.

“I’m Stiles,” he says quickly, trying to reassure her that he’s not insane. “Stiles Stilinski. You delivered my daughter the other night.”

It takes her a moment, but he can see when she clocks it in the way her features shift, her mouth tilting down, her eyes lowering slightly. “I’m so sorry. I did everything I could.”

He didn’t think ahead about what to say and just relies on the fact that the courtroom has taught him to think quickly on his feet. “Would you mind talking to me about it?” When she looks like she’d protest, Stiles holds his hands up. “No, just hear me out. The last thing I remember is a nurse giving me vitamins, telling me it was okay if I slept, and then I _did_ , and I woke up here and I’d lost Maddie.” Lost her is the best way he can say it; it’s the truth because she’s _gone_ and not _dead_.

“You came in, already in hard labor and bleeding,” she says, her tone careful and clinically distant. “You were drifting in and out of consciousness, and I needed an anesthesiologist to help me get you stabilized. The nurse came in to help me deliver the baby. Unfortunately, the cord had wrapped around her neck—she was in distress in the womb, and it’s likely that her movements caused it to happen. If we’d gotten to her more quickly, if you’d been found sooner, it might have changed things. As it is, there was nothing we could do. She was already gone.”

That can’t be the truth. Stiles _knows_ this in his gut, but he also knows how to read body language and Dr. Marin Morell _thinks_ she’s telling the truth. She believes every word she has said completely, and there is no other story that she could possibly tell.

He doesn’t know how that could be true, but it is.

“What were the names of the anesthesiologist and the nurse?” Stiles asks. “They weren’t listed on the paperwork.”

“Of course not, it was my responsibility,” Dr. Morell says quietly. “I don’t recall which nurse was on duty that night. The anesthesiologist was Rob Lewis. He’s one of our best; I’m not sure anyone else would have been able to take you under and bring you back without losing you, given your condition. He specializes in difficult births.”

Just like Morell specializes in the rare male omega. Stiles nods, pulling those pieces of information together into the place where he’s starting to build a theory. Like the idea that somehow Jennifer Blake managed to engineer it so that even though she was putting Stiles at risk, she was trying to ensure that Maddie would be safe.

It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to for one baby, and he has to wonder if the truth of Derek’s situation is worth it.

“I _am_ sorry for what happened.” Dr. Morell is somehow closer, her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “And you should be resting. It wasn’t all that long ago that I was worried that we were going to lose you as well as your daughter.”

Stiles tries to force a polite smile. “Yeah, well, couldn’t sleep and I know someone who works here and would be hungry.” He gestures back at the Jeep. “Just bringing her breakfast, and I saw you, and I thought, what the hell, maybe a little conversation would help settle my mind. Closure,” he says, and she nods like she believes it.

“I did everything I could,” she says again, and Stiles looks down.

“Yeah, I know.” He takes a step backwards. “Sorry to catch you when you’re probably already exhausted from being up all night. Thanks for talking to me.” He turns quickly enough to throw himself off-balance, catches himself when he stumbles, and crosses the space back to the Jeep to find Derek leaning against the door.

“She’s telling the truth,” Derek says.

“Yeah, I know she’s saying what she thinks is true, but you and I both know Maddie isn’t dead.” Stiles elbows Derek out of the way and yanks the door open, reaching in to pull out the bag with Melissa’s breakfast. “Besides, how do _you_ know that? I’m the one with the job experience in cross-examination.”

Derek taps Stiles’s chest. “Heartbeat.” He smiles sharply at Stiles’s dubious look. “Werewolf.”

“Let it go.” Stiles pulls away, starts heading across the parking lot toward the Emergency entrance. “Find a better lie, Derek, or better yet, tell me the truth.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s hand grips around his upper arm, holding him in place. In the dim light, Derek’s eyes flash a bright, deep red, and when he smiles, Stiles swears he can see teeth. Extra long, and very sharp, teeth.

“Hah. Makeup. Nice lengths to go to for a joke.”

“Five minutes.” Derek lets him go and holds up his hands. “That’s all I’m asking, Stiles. Give me five minutes.” He keeps his hands out, and as Stiles watches, claws elongate as the back of his knuckles go thick with fur.

Impossible.

Stiles’s voice cracks. “You’re going to a lot of trouble for this—”

“Sh.” Derek puts one claw against his lips, silencing him. When he withdraws, he takes a step back, inhales before he exhales on a snarl, his head snapping back and forth and when he stops—he’s _changed_.

Derek’s thick eyebrows are gone, and there’s fur down the sides of his cheeks. His face looks thicker, more _rough_ , and his mouth is fucking filled with teeth. When he makes a noise, there is no doubt that it’s a feral growl. When he howls, Stiles hears another howl answer from somewhere not-so-distant.

Derek smiles thickly around the teeth.

“Holy shit.” Stiles takes a quick step forward, reaches out with his free hand to run his fingers over Derek’s brow ridge. Those green eyes flash red again, and Stiles retreats, his hand still in the air, hesitating before he dares come forward again, this time to lightly touch the tips of very sharp teeth. “How did this happen?”

“Born this way.” The words are thick around the teeth, but a moment later and a shake of the head has Derek back to normal, looking exactly as he always has. “Do you believe me now?”

“Do I have a choice?” Stiles doesn’t know what he thinks about the idea, but he can’t deny what he’s just seen and touched for himself. “So you can… hear her heartbeat?”

“And she’s not lying.”

“Not as far as she’s aware.” Stiles glances at where Morell’s car had been parked not long ago. “I don’t know how she thinks that’s the truth, but she does, which means she’s not much help. We’re going to have to go past her, check out the anesthesiologist and find out who the nurse was. So we’ll start with Lewis. Maybe he can help.”

Yeah, he’s including Derek again because he needs the help. He’ll try to figure out how he feels about the supernatural later, not to mention figuring out what else Derek isn’t saying, because he gets the feeling there’s more to the story.

#

Melissa greets Derek warmly, thanks him for helping Stiles out even as she thanks Stiles for the breakfast. When she pulls Stiles in and whispers, “I’m glad you’re all right,” against his cheek, he lets himself take a moment to relax and think of her as his substitute mom. He holds on for a long time, kisses her cheek in return and puts on a bright smile.

“Oh, I know that look.” Melissa sets the takeaway styrofoam on the counter. “What are you trying to convince me to do, Stiles Stilinski?”

“I was hoping we could talk to someone.” He starts out slow and cautious, knowing that Melissa knows him all too well to bull into anything and expect it to go well.

“Dr. Morell left already.” Her expression is quietly sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Stiles, you just missed her. But I’d be happy to put a note on her locker; she’ll see it in two days when she’s back after her break.”

Derek drops a hand to the small of Stiles’s back and it’s strangely anchoring to feel it there. It gives him a chance to breathe and center himself. “Actually, I saw her in the parking lot,” he admits, and from the narrowing of Melissa’s gaze, he knows she knows he did that on purpose. Stiles bulls on, not letting her really think about it. “She mentioned that Rob Lewis was the anesthesiologist on duty that night. Do you think there’s any chance I could talk to him? She said it was really dicy, and if it hadn’t been for him, I might not be alive right now.” He tries to put every ounce of gratitude he can into his expression, but he’s not sure he pulls it off.

He has never been as good at puppy eyes as Scott is.

“Actually, he’s on leave.” Melissa pulls up something on the computer. “He had a family emergency and called in the day after you gave birth. If I remember where his family is, he’s probably back east. And no, Stiles, I do _not_ have a personal number that I’m willing to give out to you.”

“And there’s still no nurse on my record for that night.” Stiles doesn’t push it; if all else fails, he’ll have Danny get the information. The hospital computers can’t be that hard to hack into. “Was there any kind of a video record made? In case of litigation?”

“Are you thinking of suing for wrongful death?” Melissa gives him a careful look and Stiles is quick to protest.

“No, no, I just want to know who was there. Talk to them. Make this all work out in my head.” He wiggles his fingers next to his temple. “I just need to put it to rest.”

She reaches out then, tugs him away from Derek to gather him back in and hold him tight. “I understand, Stiles. We’re all heartbroken, you know that, right?”

He can feel it seeping off of her, and he wonders what it’s like for Derek, if he can smell her sorrow, the way it permeates her skin, sweats off onto Stiles. It brings the fear wiggling up from the depths where he’s put it, shoved it under the hope that Maddie is still out there, and tears prick his eyes, sobs threatening to slip out. When she kisses his forehead, a single gulp escapes, and his eyes are wet when he pulls away.

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m okay. I’m going to be okay.”

He’s done with the conversation, doesn’t dare stay for more or he’ll be bawling in public, so he turns to walk away. He’s halfway down the hall when he realizes that Derek isn’t with him, and he pauses and looks back. Melissa has her hand on Derek’s arm and they stand there, speaking quietly, and Stiles wishes he could read lips at that moment.

“What did she say?” he asks when Derek catches up. Stiles starts walking through the hospital—he knows where he’s going, even if Derek probably doesn’t.

“She reminded me that her son is best friends with Isaac and that she has access to find out where I live,” Derek says dryly. “And that if I don’t take care of you this time, and if I abandon you while you are grieving over the child we made together, she will make sure I know what pain is.”

Stiles can’t help the smile that blooms. “I do love Melissa McCall.”

“I can see why.”

They walk in silence, fingertips brushing occasionally when they sway closer together in the hall. Stiles follows the twists and turns, taking the elevator one floor down before they make their way into a remote corner of the bottom floor. The place Stiles is looking for is past outpatient surgery, then past the cafeteria, tucked away from where the public usually goes. And at not quite seven in the morning, Stiles knows the the person on shift will probably be having a coffee and pastry while he tries to wake up.

“Hey, Sam.” He nudges the door open, waves for Derek to follow him into the cramped room packed with two desks and a seemingly infinite amount of television monitors. Technology never made it into the twenty-first century here, the hospital not having the budget to improve the displays even though their recording devices have improved. Stiles used to sneak down here with Scott when they were hanging out in the hospital and bored, and Sam’s been the morning shift since Stiles was in kindergarten. “I was here and thought I’d say hello.”

Sam’s old. He was old to Stiles’s eyes twenty years ago, and the years have curved his back, added a small limp to his step. But his eyes are still vital, and he clasps Stiles’s hand warmly and shakes it. “It’s good to see you up and about. Word traveled when you came in the other day.”

Stiles flushes, because honestly, sometimes he forgets just how much of Beacon Hills knows who he is. “Thanks, Sam. I’m just… giving Derek a tour of everything from my childhood. Since he spent some time here in the hospital with me.” He catches the small sound Derek makes, quiet and querulous, at the lie. Without clarifying, he reaches back, grasps Derek’s hand and tugs him forward into better view. “Derek was Maddie’s other father,” he says, because that’s not a lie, and sticking to as much truth as possible is always the best way to lie.

Derek reaches out and shakes Sam’s hand, smiling slightly as Sam starts telling stories about the old days, when Stiles was still just a kid and hanging out at random times because Scott was here. Stiles manages to nudge him into talking about the old technology, and all the changes over the years.

He almost feels guilty about how easy it is, and how much he hates using Sam like this. But he needs to get to the truth, and he can’t think of any other way to get there.

“Few years back—Stiles was in law school then, I think, or maybe not long after he got out—they changed everything out.” Sam waves a hand. “Oh, not this part. I like my old monitors—makes it comfortable for me. But they put in new cameras behind it all. It’s digital now, kept on some machine somewhere, just in case my old eyes miss something. The doctors like it. They review their surgeries, try to see what they could do better. Help save more patients. It’s not just about security anymore.”

“Makes me feel safe knowing that they’re learning from their mistakes.” Stiles doesn’t try to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Sam sighs heavily. “I can’t show it to you, Stiles. You know that. If it were tape, I know you’d try to take it, but couldn’t let you do that either. There are laws, you know that better than anyone.”

He’s a lawyer with a sheriff for a dad; yeah, Stiles knows all about the law. He also knows how to bend it to his advantage.

“I know.” He leans in and gives the old man a hug. “I didn’t come down here for that. I just wanted to say hi, make sure you didn’t need anything from the cafeteria before I head out again.”

Sam pats the desk where there’s a plate with a half a cinnamon bun waiting, and a cold cup of coffee. “I’m all good until my break at ten,” he says. “Seeing you was a good enough treat this morning. Take care of yourself, and you tell your dad to take care of himself, too.”

“I will.” They talk a few more minutes, idle chatter about family and life, before Stiles and Derek head out.

“You didn’t get what you wanted,” Derek says when they’ve moved far enough down the hall.

Stiles smiles thinly. “I got everything I needed, and Sam probably knows it. He’s right about the video—I actually borrowed a tape once when I was a kid, after my mom died, just so I could watch her on it. So this time he told me where the new files are stored. I’ve got everything I need to tell Danny where to get it. And Sam’s not at fault, because we were just chatting. He has no idea I have a hacker for a best friend.”

Derek pauses, his hand on Stiles’s back, just looking at him. “I think it’s a good thing you went into law. I can’t imagine you on the other side. The world would never know what hit it.”

“That’s exactly what my dad said when I decided on law school,” Stiles says, although it’s not quite true. His dad had sighed heavily, his shoulders relaxing with the truth that Stiles wasn’t going to be a career criminal.

He didn’t know whether to be offended or honored that his dad thought he’d be a great criminal. Mostly he just ignores it because he knows he’s using his evil talents for the side of good. Especially now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning and happy Sunday! I'm on vacation now, heading out to the camp (in the rain) shortly, and will be there for the rest of the week. I'm hoping for some quiet and writing time this week, if I'm lucky. *fingers crossed* Thank you all for reading and for your lovely comments! So many <333 to all of you.
> 
> The next chapter will post on Sunday July 5. See you then! If you're looking for me in the meantime, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

They go their separate ways in the parking lot, but when Derek is waiting at Stiles’s door as soon as he gets home, he doesn’t argue. He just pushes the door open, motions for Derek to step inside, and follows him there.

“Have you decided to accept that I’m a werewolf?” Derek drops onto the couch, one arm along the back, and Stiles stands there, staring at him. He can imagine the changed features, the claws at the tips of his fingertips. He wonders how much changes, how far it goes, and what Derek would look like if he really got to see him in good light.

He shakes his head, tries to erase it from his mind for the moment. “It’s hard to argue with the evidence,” Stiles says dryly. “Either you’ve hired a fantastic special effects crew, gone to a lot of trouble to make me hallucinate, or it’s true. I’m going with the simplest choice.”

“Then sit down, because there’s more you need to know.” Derek touches the couch next to him, and Stiles sinks into it. He leaves space between them, not wanting to remember how good it feels to be pressed up against Derek. Nor does he want this to look like it’s easy, like everything’s shifting back the way it was months ago.

“Give me one minute.” Stiles pulls his phone out, sends a quick set of texts to Danny outlining what he needs him to get out of the hospital records and video archives, then sets the phone on the table where he can easily see any response. He pulls his feet up and sits cross-legged on the couch, sideways and facing Derek. “Okay, go.”

“Werewolves have packs.”

“Really? I’d thought that would just be a myth.” Stiles can’t help it; Derek looks so serious, and there is something too ridiculous about this situation for him to let it go. He waves a hand at Derek’s glare. “No, sorry, go on. Go on.”

“Packs have territory.” Derek keeps his words simple and firm, but Stiles can see the tension in his hands where they rest against his thighs. “My mother was an alpha when I was growing up. We had a large family and an even larger pack, and she was one of the most powerful and well-respected alphas in the state. People came to her for advice—both as wolves, and as humans.”

“Was she the head of some kind of werewolf council?” It sounds a little like a roleplaying game, with politics and power, but Stiles has to ask.

Derek shakes his head. “Not like that, no. We all knew where one territory ended and another began, and there were accords with neighboring packs. Kali was the alpha of a pack to the north of us, and Julia was her emissary.” He pauses, narrows his gaze. “An emissary is someone who is not a werewolf, but is part of the pack, as well as being part of the land around them. The emissary ties the pack to the land, and helps the pack maintain its humanity. They keep balance, and they have abilities which aid in that goal.”

All true, but it feels like Derek is leaving something out. Probably something important.

Stiles cocks his head, tries to listen to the way Derek speaks, to read his body language. “Earlier when you told me you were a werewolf, I would’ve sworn you were lying.”

“It was the middle of the night,” Derek says. “You weren’t awake yet.”

Stiles shakes his head, bends his knees up and leans his elbows on them. “Nope, that’s not it. I’m thinking you were leaving something out, and you left it out in such a rush that it came out like a lie. And you’re still leaving something out.”

“It’s not important to the story,” Derek tells him, and Stiles isn’t sure he believes that either, so he just lets it go.

“Fine, we’ll regroup around the missing bits later.” He waves a hand. “Emissaries and werewolves and Julia was your neighbor. Moving on.”

“When I was sixteen, I thought my pack was immortal.” Derek offers a wry smile, ducks his head. “They weren’t, and there were people who proved that to us. My mother and the Hales might have been one of the most powerful packs around, but they all still died in the night, trapped in my home and burned by fire.”

“Wait.” Stiles lifts up, leaning forward, almost on his knees. “I remember this. The house in the woods that burned. You grew up _here_. I didn’t know the name, didn’t know that was you. But I remember my father going out, I remember my mother crying for days because she was so upset that so many people had died. She got sick after that—so damned sick that she _died_ , Derek, and I always thought she somehow died because of _that fire_.”

Derek swallows hard, and when he looks up his eyes flare red for a moment before dying back to moss green and full of pain. “They all died. Our entire pack was there that night, for a gathering on the eclipse of the full moon. Only four of us survived: myself, Laura, Cora, and our emissary. And they still got to us later.”

“It’s only you and Cora now,” Stiles says slowly, because he’s still trying to assimilate this. He knew it was bad—that’s why he’d never poked at it, and he hadn’t wanted to share about his mother. He hadn’t realized it was _this_ bad, and he still doesn’t want to know exactly how many people Derek lost in one night. “Was it because of Kali’s pack?”

Derek’s eyebrows go up. “No. At least not as far as I know, unless they cut a deal with a group of hunters. There are people who kill people like me; one of them found a way in and did it.”

Again, something is left out, but Stiles doesn’t need to prod at the details, not now. He just nods quietly, and raises a hand as if to ask if there’s anything else.

“Yes, it’s only me and Cora, and she’s in Venezuela. And Maddie.” Derek adds it like an afterthought, and Stiles inhales roughly, lets it out slow and without denying it.

Maddie is _Stiles’s_ daughter, but he can’t deny that she carries Hale genes.

“So, what’s so special about Hale genetics? Was there something about your mom that made her a hotshot alpha?”

Derek’s expression is wry. “There was, but it didn’t pass to me. I wasn’t supposed to be the alpha, and I never learned all the tricks. That was Laura, and she’s dead now, too. Without an emissary, I have nothing to center me, no way to find the wolf without losing my humanity.” He pauses, holds one hand up to show claws. “I can do this, but a partial shift is all I have. My mother and Laura could shift to a full wolf form. It’s a rare ability, and there are very few born wolf lines that can do it. And now there’s one less.”

There are so many pieces of that that Stiles can barely understand. He takes it all in, stores it to tease apart later and nods as if it all makes sense right off the bat. “Wolf. You can’t, she could, they think Maddie could. And you think another pack might have taken her because she has Hale blood.”

“Or they could be selling her to a werewolf who wants her.” Derek frowns, staring at his hands that are clasped together. Stiles reaches out, covers his hands, and Derek looks up, startled before his expression goes dull again. “I don’t remember Kali being like this. Or Julia. But it’s very possible that things changed.”

“Sounds like we have to assume something’s going on,” Stiles says. “And the scary part is, the more you talk, the more it makes a weird kind of sense. Not an admissible in court kind of sense, but the kind I can wrap my head around anyway. So we should keep going down this route. Wherever that takes us.”

His phone buzzes and he picks it up to see only two words from Danny: _call me_. He shows it to Derek, then connects the call, putting the phone on speaker and holding it between them. As soon as he hears Danny’s voice, he calls out, “Hey, Danny Boy, you’ve got me and Derek here.”

“That makes twice, but don’t worry, I’m not going to tell Lydia,” Danny responds, and there’s a smile in his voice. “I’ve got information for you. And a video, but I’m not sure you want to see it.”

There’s a thud in his chest, and for a moment, Stiles can’t breathe. When he focuses again, Derek is holding onto his hand, squeezing, and saying something about sending it over, and asking why Stiles wouldn’t want to see.

“Your daughter’s not on the video,” Danny says quietly. “In fact, I’d say it’s been tampered with, but not in any kind of editing way. There are no markers, nothing that shows the footage has been pieced together. It just goes fuzzy for a good part of the procedure. The only clarity is at the beginning and the end.”

“And?” Stiles’s voice is choked; he swallows hard to try to regain control.

“It’s the same woman. At the end I can see her with the doctor, and it looks like they’re having some kind of conversation. The doctor is nodding to whatever Julia says, and in the end, Julia leaves and the doctor stands there for a long time while you’re still in the bed. She eventually starts working on your chart like she’s just woken up, and it ends when orderlies come to take you out.”

Stiles glances at Derek, wondering if that makes sense, but Derek seems to be lost in thought. “Thanks, Danny, that’s a help. A big help, since that means she stayed involved, right up until the point that Maddie was taken away. So finding my daughter means finding Julia Baccari.”

“Which also means that Lydia and I are definitely coming west.” There’s a noise in the background like Danny’s moving around. “No arguments, Stiles. We were planning on coming, just not quite yet, and it sounds like you could use some backup. It’ll make it easier when we’re all in the same time zone. We have the tickets and the hotel reservation; we’ll show up on your doorstep as soon as we get in. I’m doing my best to switch away from that red eye we got and get in earlier.”

“Thanks, guys, I’m looking forward to seeing you.” As much as a part of him likes that Derek is here acting as a watchdog, he wants his friends around him. Maybe they’re like _his_ pack, that’s how it feels, more than friends. Like family. “Send me your flight information when you’ve got it; I’ll expect to see you after.”

When Stiles hangs up the phone, Derek untangles himself and slides off the couch.

“I’m going to change your lock.” There’s no arguing with the way Derek says it. “And then I need to go somewhere, see if I can find some information that might be left from twenty years ago.” He shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders. “It might be gone. Laura never really knew where to find anything, and even if she did, she didn’t tell me before she died. But if there’s anything my mom left about our pack, about being an alpha, about the other packs, I have some ideas where it could be. It’s not the kind of place you can follow me into, though, so I need you to stay here, and safe.”

“Where am I going to go?” Stiles spreads his hands. “Still a bit weak, on extended vacation from work for grieving, and apparently I’m getting house guests soon. I’ll be okay, Derek, I promise.”

“And I won’t be gone long.” Derek leans in, frames Stiles’s face with his hands. He just looks at him for a long moment before he leans in and lightly brushes a kiss against his lips. He lingers over the touch just enough to make Stiles want more, then he pulls away. “Let me get that lock done.”

“Yeah.” Stiles needs the door taken care of, needs to know that he’s safe in his own home, more than he needs to touch Derek again. Because he shouldn’t _want_ this. Shouldn’t be seeing the affection in Derek’s gaze, shouldn’t be responding to what feels like want and need. He takes a rough breath, huffs it out as he falls back into the couch, lets it take his weight when he stretches out. “You do that, then go do what you need to do. I’ll be here when you get back.”

There’s a pause before Derek says quietly, “I’m coming back, Stiles.” As if there’s a question, or a possibility that he won’t.

Stiles closes his eyes, because he gets that. “I know,” he says. “I know.”

#

Stiles makes it through the night after Derek leaves, but by mid-morning the next day he’s officially bored. He doesn’t know what to do next, and worrying about Maddie (and Derek) makes his skin itch unbearably. He’s stuck for the moment, waiting for Derek to come back, waiting for Danny and Lydia to arrive, just _waiting_ , and he needs to do _something_.

He starts making lists, trying to classify odd behavior that he’s noticed around Derek and make it fit in with what he knows now, and he comes up with one important fact: Isaac has to be a werewolf.

It explains everything, including Stiles’s instincts about these family gatherings and the way that he doesn’t trust Isaac to take Scott with him. 

Now he _really_ doesn’t trust Isaac to take Scott. Can a wolf make another wolf? Is that even possible? Derek called himself a _born wolf_ like it meant something, but Stiles hasn’t had a chance to get all the information straight in his head.

There’s only one way to find out. He picks up the phone, finds Isaac’s number listed under “douchebag of grand proportions” in his contact list, and presses the button to dial.

“Why are you calling me?”

“I actually expected your first words to be _is Scott okay,_ so I might be a bit disappointed,” Stiles says.

“I’m _with_ Scott.” He can hear the exasperation in Isaac’s voice. “We’re actually working, in case you were wondering, but sure, Stiles, I can step out for five minutes to indulge whatever whim you’ve got.” There’s movement and muffled sounds, then a door opening and closing with a thunk. “What is it?”

“I was talking to Derek yesterday—”

“Is Derek okay?”

Stiles has to laugh. “ _Now_ you’re worried? I’m pretty sure Derek can take care of himself far better than Scott can. And yes, he’s fine. He left on a hunt for old family records.”

The silence stretches and Stiles wonders if Isaac is following along with the hint, or if he’s just going to miss it. “Family records, huh?” Isaac finally says.

“ _Family_ records, yeah.” Stiles looks up at his ceiling, tests the words slowly. “Derek says you’re as good as family. And I was thinking about those family gatherings you have.”

“Just how much did Derek tell you,” Isaac asks.

“Is red significant?” Stiles asks the question that he forgot to ask Derek, because he wonders if all the wolves do it, or if its a thing that’s just Derek. Or just Hales. He hears the intake of breath from Isaac, and he waits this time for him to speak.

“Red means alpha.” Isaac’s voice is barely a whisper, and Stiles smiles to hear it.

“And yours are?” Because he _knows_ Isaac is a werewolf. He _knows_ this is what’s been bothering him for so long.

“Yellow.” 

There’s a thump, and Stiles imagines Isaac falling back against the wall, leaning hard.

“Dinner,” Isaac finally says. “There’s this steak place. The one with the two-pounder on the menu.”

“Daisy’s.” Stiles is familiar with it, even if he’s never managed to eat the signature plate. “Are you asking me out, Isaac? Scott might be jealous.”

“It’s not a date.” Isaac’s voice is low. “Scott’s having dinner with his mom tonight, and I was already planning to meet up with my… friends.” Stiles reads into the hesitation there, and his heart skips, realizing that _friends_ might translate to _pack_. Which wouldn’t have interested him if it were just Isaac, but these are people who are important to Derek that Stiles has never met.

“Ah. What time then?” Stiles can’t see his calendar, but it’s not like he’s booked up. As long as he’s back by the time Danny and Lydia drive up after the late flight from Boston comes in to San Francisco, he’s in good shape.

He marks down the time so he doesn’t forget, and noodles through the rest of the day. When the time comes, he showers before getting changed into something clean, then heads out to Daisy’s.

They spot him before he sees them. He hears a voice ring out loudly, “Isaac, that has to be him, right?” When Stiles stops to look around, he finds a woman walking toward him, her blond hair falling over her shoulders and her lips a bright red slash. He wants to think her smile is friendly, but he just sees predatory teeth when she grins and takes his hand.

“Stiles. Derek’s Stiles. It’s _so good_ to finally meet you.”

Stiles blinks, stares at her. “I’m guessing he didn’t introduce us before because of the complications.”

“And the fuck buddy status,” she says.

“Not to mention the broken up status.” The man with her is big. Huge. Not so much taller than Stiles, but broad-shouldered and looking like he could break Stiles with one quick twitch of his hands. But his grin is bright and easy, set into a dark face with kind eyes. “I’m Boyd, this is Erica, and you already know Isaac. Come on, sit down. Isaac told us you’ve been through hell.”

Stiles trips over his own feet because apparently these people know things about him. Probably more things than Derek since they’re _right here_ and Isaac has talked about him. Although Isaac didn’t tell _Derek_ , and now Stiles is confused about who knows what. He falls into the seat Isaac pushes out, and blinks a few times, trying to make words happen.

He’s not speechless often.

“So.” Erica leans her elbows on the table, chin on her hands. “Isaac tells me that you’ve gotten the big speech from Derek.” She crooks her fingers by her teeth and makes a _grrr_ sound. “How the hell did that happen? I didn’t think you’d be that cozy.”

“Maddie,” Stiles says, because it’s the obvious answer and easy to say. “He thinks—” His voice trails off and he glances around. He had _no idea_ about Derek, which makes him wonder if he’d have any idea about someone here. Tapping his ear, he asks, “So, how good is your hearing, and if someone like you were here, could they listen to our conversation?”

“Very good,” Isaac says, “and yes, but there’s no one here. We’re the only pack in Beacon Hills, and we’re small.”

Stiles presses his lips together, tries to decide how to frame this. “There’s another pack nearby,” he says quietly. “And Derek thinks that’s where Maddie is. So maybe if we want to talk about it, we should talk about it somewhere safer.”

Erica’s fingers ghost over his forearm. “I’m so sorry,” she says quietly. “What happened is awful.”

“No more sympathy, just action.” Stiles doesn’t push her away, but he wants to get his point across. “We’re going to find her. We’re just on hold at the moment, waiting for the cavalry and some more information. So maybe tonight is about either you telling me secrets, or we just get to know each other. Like people who might have to be friends someday.”

Isaac, Boyd, and Erica exchange looks.

“We’re not talking about Derek,” Boyd says.

“I don’t want to talk about Derek, or the relationship we had, or even Maddie. Not tonight.” Stiles spreads his hands. “Assume I’m some guy who just wants to know more about the cult before you bring me in on it.”

“Are you thinking of taking the bite?” Erica’s voice drops as she leans in closer to him, eyes flashing a brief yellow glint.

“So that’s a thing?” Stiles leans back in his chair, ready to settle in with the questions and answer session. “Because I wasn’t sure. Derek said he was born that way.”

“Derek and Cora were born, we all were bitten.” Erica’s gesture includes Isaac and Boyd. “Isaac was first, and Boyd and I joined the pack back when Isaac was dating Cora.”

Stiles’s instincts were correct, and that means he bets the rest of what he was thinking is right, too. He looks at Isaac, makes his expression as serious as possible. “You can _not_ steal my best friend. _This_ is why he can’t go to your family things.”

“It’d be _good_ for him,” Isaac protests. “I’m going to have to tell him someday. Derek told you, I have to tell Scott. And if he wants it, I’m not going to stop him. Think about how it’d help him. He wouldn’t have asthma anymore.”

“It cured epilepsy,” Erica says, and it clicks in Stiles’s mind then why she looks familiar. 

“Oh,” he says, remembering high school all too well, along with certain videos that had circulated in his junior year. Her smile is thin when she replies _yeah, oh_. It seems too late to say _I’m sorry_ , but he does it anyway because shit like that shouldn’t have happened to her, and her smile eases into something more comfortable.

“It wouldn’t stop him from being your best friend.” Boyd’s words are simple, slowly said and Stiles gives them a moment to sink in. He’s not sure he trusts that sentiment—he’s pretty damned sure that being changed into a werewolf would make some kind of fundamental difference in a person’s life. But he’ll allow that there’s a possibility that they could just go on as they always have, and they can table the discussion for now.

Besides… “It’s his choice in the end,” Stiles says with a small shrug. “And you’re right, it’s not one I can make for him, but it’s a lot to think about. Keep in mind that I’m just coming into this and Isaac, we haven’t exactly gotten along well in the past.”

“Seems like we might need to work on that, for Derek’s sake.”

Stiles gives Isaac a sharp look. “I think you’re making assumptions.”

“Let’s just keep the assumptions out of this, and put the snark away, boys.” Erica puts her hands out towards each of them as if pushing them into separate corners. “Dinner is not about fighting. It’s about getting to know someone who has in the past been important to our alpha, and who happens to be the father of his child. So let’s just do the whole getting to know each other thing, and try not to wind each other up.” She glances between them, just in time to see Stiles sticking his tongue out at Isaac. “Okay, let’s not try to wind each other up _too much_ ,” she says with a roll of the eyes. “Seriously?”

It gets better after that. Stiles tries not to dig at Isaac constantly, and Erica has a sharp wit that takes them each down a peg when they start to get going. Boyd offers dry observations, and in the end, Stiles has to admit that he might actually like all three of them. When he’s not seeing Isaac as a best-friend-stealer, he’s a more interesting person.

He’s not entirely surprised when all three werewolves order the Daisy Double and put it away easily, while Stiles sticks with a modest 8oz Kansas City strip. It gives him a chance to quiz them, taking mental notes, and store it all in the back of his mind so that he can look at it more closely later, when he’s got Danny and Lydia to help him deconstruct this world he’s fallen into.

#

Stiles needs something to keep himself awake, so he spends a half hour on the phone with his dad, until the Sheriff reminds him that he’s on-shift and can’t just keep chatting, even though Stiles is happy to try to get his dad talking about his current case load. It gives him something to think about.

“Jackson’s a dick,” Stiles tells his dad, just in case he’s forgotten.

“He’s also a good deputy, so do your damnedest to just get along with him.” The sigh in his voice shows how often they’ve had this argument. “Son, you need to leave high school behind you.”

“I have! Jackson’s still a dick to me in the modern era.” Stiles leans back on the sofa, shakes his head. “Worst part is I’m guessing I’ll have to see him, since Lydia and Danny are coming out.”

“You’ll manage.” There’s a door in the background before the Sheriff sighs again. “Son, I have to go. We’ve got a call, so I’m heading out.”

There’s always a twist in Stiles’s gut when he hears that; it’s the reason that his fascination with the police scanner went away years ago. He doesn’t like knowing his dad’s potentially in danger. “Stay safe, Dad.” He keeps his tone purposefully light, but he suspects he fails at fooling anyone. Not now, not when he’s worried about losing more than he already has.

“Stiles.”

He’s surprised to hear his dad’s voice, just as he’s about to hang up. “Yeah?”

“Whatever you’re planning, cut it out,” his dad says. “Because I know when you’re up to something, and I’m betting you’ve got Lydia and Danny and probably Derek involved. It’s hard, Stiles. From where you’re sitting right now, it seems like it’s never going to stop hurting, but whatever you’re thinking of doing, I’m betting it’s not the right thing to do.”

Stiles wonders what his dad thinks he’s up to, because he’s pretty sure he’s far from what Stiles is _really_ going to do. If he’s going to tell him, this would be the moment. And maybe he should say something, because Maddie is _missing_ and finding missing children is what law enforcement does.

On the other hand, there are werewolves involved, and people who tried to kill Stiles, and did he mention the _werewolves_? Stiles doesn’t want his dad within a mile of that, and he’s willing to let him keep on believing that Stiles is a bit overset by grief if that’s what it takes.

“I’m not planning anything, Dad.” His words come too late, after too much thought, and his dad makes a noise of disbelief. “No, really. Lydia and Danny are coming out to be moral support. They’ll stay with me so Derek doesn’t have to. He’s got things to do, and we’re not together, remember? We still have a lot of shit to work out, and it’ll be better if I’ve got friends here.”

Some of that is even true.

He’s pretty sure his dad doesn’t believe him, but Stiles manages to make all the right noises, and there are people calling out and pulling his dad away from the phone. By the time the line goes dead, Stiles is at least pretty sure that there’s not going to be a deputy on his doorstep to keep an eye on him. But only pretty sure.

An hour later, when the doorbell rings, he peers through the little window warily, just in case it’s a watch dog, before he yanks it open to welcome Lydia and Danny inside.

She hugs him hard and he buries his face in her hair, smelling the familiar strawberry vanilla that he remembers from their high school years. It’s like a punch to the gut that she’s _real_ and _here_ and he shudders with the tension of not simply crying on her shoulder before she’s even gotten a chance to sit down. They’re still tangled, with Stiles gripping her hard, when Danny claps a hand on his shoulder, turns him to give him a quick hug, then nudges him toward the couch.

They end up sprawled together with Stiles in the middle, bracketed by two of his best friends while the breath shudders in and out of his lungs.

Lydia holds one hand and Danny holds the other. “Breathe,” she says quietly, and Stiles listens to it like a coxswain’s orders to row. With every soft whisper, he inhales, then lets it out slowly, waiting for the next time she’ll speak. After several slow breaths, the panic eases in his chest, and he squeezes her hand to let her know he’s okay.

“That was not the hello I was expecting,” Lydia says dryly.

“Clinging hugs, near panic attack because he probably hasn’t cried.” Danny ticks the points of on his fingers. “It’s about what I thought would be coming.”

“You are an ass too, just like your best friend.” Stiles elbows him gently. “Just not as _bad_ as Jackson.”

“No Jackson talk tonight, unless it’s how we’re going to get him involved and helping us,” Lydia says. “In fact, no planning tonight. I am tired, and I have been on a plane for far too many hours. I smell like stale air and old liquor from the man next to me breathing all over me. It is now my turn to drink, and your turn to talk.”

“It’s a pity I can’t just summon the beer.” Stiles sighs and starts to push himself out of the couch, stopping only when Danny nudges him back and heads to the kitchen. He returns with the entire six pack, opens one for each of them, and leaves the other three on the table.

“To friends,” Stiles raises his beer, and the other two clink theirs and they all take long gulps.

Lydia sighs as she sets the beer against her thigh and leans against Stiles. “This visit was supposed to be a celebration.”

“Blame the werewolves,” Stiles grumbles. “I am not the one who fucked this all up. In fact, I was doing a remarkable job of _not_ fucking it up, even though nature _tried_.”

“Werewolves,” Danny says, and oh, _right_.

Stiles looks from left to right and back again. “There might be a few details I need to catch you up on.” He does it as succinctly as he can, from Julia Baccari to Kali to Derek and the Hales. He leaves out some of the details—parts seem too personal to Derek. But he does mention that the Hale family is small, and the pack is small, and when he starts whining about Isaac and Scott, Lydia laughs softly.

“Your daughter was fathered by a _werewolf_ and you’re worried about losing your best friend to your boyfriend’s pack?” she asks.

“Why don’t you seem more bothered by this?” Stiles counters, and Lydia flushes.

“Werewolves are rare,” she says, words slightly clipped. “But I may have met one before. Briefly. In my bed.”

“They were twins,” Danny offers. “Hot as hell, and one of each orientation. It’s not like they had fur and claws in the sack.”

There is an entire story here, and Stiles wants to know it. All of it, because they must have been more than a one night stand if Lydia and Danny are this blasé about it. But at the same time, he’s not sure he wants to get into it right now.

If they understand, he wants to talk to them about Derek.

“What do I do?” he asks, assuming they’ll follow his path of logic, as they’re all two beers and only thirty minutes into the conversation.

“That depends. Has he told you why he disappeared yet?” Lydia asks.

“No.” Stiles shifts to lean against Danny, tugging Lydia with him until they are all curled up together. “He keeps leaving things out when he’s talking, like there’s more to it than werewolves and emissaries. Like there’s another piece that he swears isn’t important, but I think it is.”

“Hm.” Lydia mulls it over, her fingers sliding against the glass of her bottle. Stiles remembers this habit of hers, remembers how it used to drive him nuts and make him hard, and he realizes that he hasn’t just gotten past his crush on her, he’s really gotten over her because it doesn’t affect him at all. “Do you trust him?” Lydia asks.

“Yes.” Despite the missing pieces of information, despite the disappearance, Stiles’s gut tells him that he can trust Derek, at least where Maddie is concerned. “Maddie’s important to him; he doesn’t have much family. Of course, he also doesn’t understand that she’s _mine_.”

“Technically she belongs to both of you. Any court of law—”

Stiles interrupts Danny. “Any court of law would rule for the birth parent in a case where the other parent abandoned the former. Derek disappeared, Maddie is mine.”

“Did you attempt to inform him about the pregnancy?” Lydia points out. “There are procedures, Stiles, and you know very well that if you didn’t follow them, you will still need to fight for custody of your child.”

“Don’t.” He puts out a hand on her arm as if he can physically stop the words. “Don’t. Maddie’s mine. We’re going to find her, and she’s going to stay with me. I carried her, I did everything, she’s _mine_.” He knows the procedures, knows the rights of an omega, but he chooses to ignore them right now.

“Maybe there’s a chance she belongs with both of you,” Lydia says quietly. “You trust him. If he’ll just tell you the truth, would you want to let him in again?”

“She has a point,” Danny says.

And yes, she _does_ have a point, but Stiles doesn’t know what to do with it. “I’m still attracted to him,” he says quietly. “It wasn’t a grand affair, Lydia. It was sex. Fantastic sex, the kind where you want to curl up around the other person and wake up with them and do it all over again. Sex with cuddling, sex with companionship. We just both left a lot out, and we’d have to start over and bring all our history with us. I’d have to bring my dead mom into it, and he’d have his dead family. He has a pack, and I have a Scott that his pack wants to adopt. And if it doesn’t work out when we try for real, what does that mean for Maddie, or for Scott even, who’d be stuck between me and Isaac.”

“How does Isaac figure into this hypothetical future divorce?” Danny asks.

“I don’t know.” Lydia reaches past Stiles to pat Danny’s thigh. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Pack,” Stiles says. “Did your werewolves have a pack?”

“It was a three night stand, not a relationship,” Danny tells him. “We didn’t get as far as talking about family. We barely got as far as leaving the bedroom, but a guy’s gotta eat.”

“They walked out naked,” Lydia says. “I was in the kitchen making coffee, and I thought it was Aidan at first, but no, it’s Ethan, absolutely stark naked, with Danny behind him. I left before they could do it on the kitchen table.”

“We bleached the table after.”

“I am so glad I don’t live with you two.” Stiles loves them dearly, but he can’t imagine it. The two of them make it work, though, perfect partners in every way except sexually. He wonders sometimes what Jackson thinks of his ex-girlfriend being a platonic life partner with his best friend, but then he thinks it serves the asshole right that Lydia and Danny get on better with each other than they ever did with Jackson.

Maybe he’s still a little bitter about being accused of murdering his own daughter.

“Where _is_ Derek?” Lydia lifts her bottle to peer through it into the light, sighing when she sees how empty it is.

“Off to find werewolf things in werewolf only places.” Stiles wonders what it means that he couldn’t follow. Derek said he doesn’t shift into a full wolf form, and why would you hide important records somewhere dangerous? He makes a face, not really understanding the logic and wishing he knew enough to feel comfortable that Derek wasn’t leaving out something else important. “He thinks he has records that will tell us more about Julia Baccari and Kali, so we can figure out where to find her now. Kali used to have a pack north of here, but Derek’s sure something’s changed, because this is not normal emissary and werewolf behavior.”

He startles at the rap on the door, flailing out and sliding off the sofa with a thunk only to hear another set of knocking, loud and quick.

He looks between his friends. “We’re all here, right?”

“Are you expecting anyone else?” Lydia asks, and when Stiles shakes his head, they both flank him on the way to the door.

It’s not Julia or Jennifer or whatever her name is that he sees through the little window, so he pulls the door open, trying to ignore the fact that it’s pushing four in the morning and therefore not a great time for random guests. “Yes?” he says to the dark-haired girl on his doorstep.

“Holy _crap_ ,” she says, and for a moment her eyes flash a bright yellow that leaves Stiles blinking. “I knew there was something Derek wasn’t mentioning but I did _not_ think it would be this.”

“What?” Stiles is still standing there in the doorway, one foot out and wedged in a place to make it difficult for her to push inside if she wanted to. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Cora Hale.” She looks him over, gaze lingering on the constellation of moles on his face, then dropping to where his fingers are on the door. “And you’re Claudia Stilinski’s son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are halfway there! This is the longest chapter of the entire piece, and I hope you enjoyed it. As for me, I finished drafting chapter 9 but still need to do a major editing pass on it before it's ready for primetime. I'm currently working on the final chapter, which will be short, but hopefully a lovely ending after putting you through this rollercoaster. In the meantime, I am finishing up a (very rainy!) vacation with some lovely sun, and I shall go outside and work on words very soon now.
> 
> For those in the US who celebrated yesterday, I hope you had a lovely July 4th. I grilled a turkey and invited camp friends to eat with us, like feeding my own little campground pack while we watched the fireworks. Thanksgiving dinner for the 4th of July!
> 
> The next chapter will post on Sunday, July 12. Thank you so much for reading, and for all of your lovely comments. If you'd like to find me in the meantime, I'm [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com), otherwise I'll see you here next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!

It takes Stiles some time to recover from the shock of a complete stranger recognizing him by his _mother_. By the time he does, he’s on the couch with his third beer in his hand while Danny opens three more bottles to pass around. Cora’s sitting on the chair opposite him, her elbows leaning on her knees while she watches him, and Stiles is somehow grateful that Lydia’s right on the arm of her chair, staying close. Just in case.

Just in case _what_ , he doesn’t know, but he feels better with her there, and Danny sitting back on the sofa beside him.

“Derek called me,” Cora says. “He explained what’s going on, told me you were in on the big secret, and that someone should be here to keep an eye on you.”

“Between these guys, the rest of your pack, and my dad, I think I’ve got it covered, but thanks,” Stiles manages to say. “How did you know my mom?”

Cora pulls her phone out, frowns at it. “The rest of my pack?”

“Isaac, Erica, Boyd.” Stiles counts them off on one finger. “I figured it out; it’s only logical. And it makes sense, considering you and Isaac. Since apparently you told him you were a wolf.” Unlike Derek and himself.

“Not exactly, he was bitten before he met me.” Cora shrugs one shoulder, still focused on her phone. She taps at it with one finger, slowly picking out a message. “We were already pack before we dated. Also, Isaac is on his way over.”

“Um.” Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that. “My living room is not big enough for this.”

“We’ll squeeze in.” Lydia perches on the arm of the chair, leaning into the back and ignoring Cora’s personal space. “So, Derek has a pack of what, five? Himself, you, and the three Stiles mentioned?”

“In a manner of speaking. Some of the pack members have people that are close enough to family to make them almost pack.” Her glance at Stiles seems to include him, and he’d laugh out loud if he weren’t afraid it would come out sounding vaguely hysterical.

“Right. So we’re going to have four werewolves in my living room.”

“And Scott; he was with Isaac.”

Stiles opens his mouth, closes it quickly. He has _no idea_ what to say to that, because… “Scott doesn’t know,” he whispers. “Scott needs to be _safe_.”

“Scott is being told right now, and you don’t need to worry. There is no safer place to be than surrounded by a pack of wolves.” Cora grins, teeth sharp and bright in the light.

“Tell that to Maddie.” Lydia’s words drop like small stones, and the smile falls away from Cora’s lips.

“Special circumstances.” Cora pushes to her feet, her shoulder brushing against Lydia’s hip and knocking her off-kilter. “Do you have food, Stiles? Werewolves tend to get hungry when we’re up late at night.”

“Do you have any idea how much I just watched them eat a few hours ago?” Stiles is already reaching for his phone, opening it up to find bookmark for his favorite pizza place. He opens the webpage and starts an order. “You’re paying.”

“Then I’m picking the toppings.” Cora grabs for his phone, and there’s a moment of jockeying while Stiles insists on ordering his favorite and Scott’s, then makes sure there’s something for Lydia and Danny. After that, it’s up to Cora, and it helps take up the time until Isaac and the others are there, squeezing into the space that suddenly seems way too small.

“So—”

Stiles holds up one hand to interrupt Cora. “Wait. Before we start on something else. Before the pizza gets here. Before you can avoid it again. How the _hell_ do you know my mom?”

“What was that, dude?” Scott bumps his shoulder, expression curious. “Your mom was a werewolf?”

Stiles’s eyes go wide at that thought, and Cora chuckles. “No,” she says. “Claudia Stilinski was our emissary, just like Julia Baccari is for Kali.” At Scott’s blank expression, she looks to Stiles, but he’s not helping since Derek wasn’t entirely clear on this. She presses her lips together, cocks her head, hands on her hips.

“She was our humanity,” she says slowly. “She kept Mom anchored, which helped keep _us_ anchored.”

“Are you trying to say she and your mom…” Stiles wobbles his hands together, and Cora’s eyes go wide.

“No, no. God no. They were best friends, ever since childhood. The Hale family and the Wilczek family have been intertwined for a long time.” Cora leans forward, head tilted, expression considering. “That isn’t to say that some emissaries don’t have that relationship with their alpha. Julia and Kali did when we were kids, or at least rumor said they did. Some packs think it adds stability and power to the pack, because it lets the emissary have an anchor in return.”

Stiles’s mouth goes dry, and he tries not to follow what she’s implying, because if it isn’t crystal clear to the others, it’s at least mostly clear to him. And he’s not ready to jump into the abyss she’s just opened in front of him. “Um. So. Go on. What about those special emissary abilities?”

“Magic, for lack of a better word.” She moves her hand, fingers spreading out as if she cradles something in the air. “Not flashy, like fireballs. We’re not talking Hogwarts here, and we’re not talking Jedi mind tricks either.”

Stiles’s estimation of Cora goes up several notches for incorporating pop culture references into her explanation for analogies. “Then what _are_ we talking?”

“Herbalism. Healing. Ways of using belief to control instinct and to help corral the supernatural. Ways of fighting, and ways of ending fights.” Cora ticks things off on her fingers. “Vervain. Wolfsbane. Ash. The power of nature, because nature is the best way to deal with the supernatural.”

“Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me that I should load up on rock salt and arcane herbs.” Stiles smirks, the expression falling away when Cora simply nods.

“It’s surprising what shows like _Supernatural_ get right, and how they twist it just enough to make it look fake,” she says quietly. “Legends come from somewhere, Stiles.”

Scott stands and sets an untouched beer on the table, nudging Stiles as he moves. “Dudes, I’m going out to get some drinks that aren’t alcoholic. And to get some air.”

Isaac is on his feet immediately while Lydia and Danny exchange a look. When Isaac takes a step forward, Scott takes one step back.

“We’ll take the rental car.” Lydia loops one arm through the crook of Scott’s elbow, walking him to the door. “I agree, air and a little bit of room to think things through. And if we’re lucky, we’ll be gone long enough for Stiles’s first magic lesson to be over, and we won’t have to witness him attempting to set fire to his own eyebrows.”

“That’s not the kind of magic it is,” Stiles protests. “I think.”

Lydia raises both eyebrows, snorts indelicately. “Stiles, whatever it _is_ , you’ll find a way to make it something else. Now, Scott and I are going to take a nice long drive, pick up some snacks and some drinks, then we are going to get some sleep before we return, so that we are all operating at our best. I highly recommend that you all find a place to sleep and do the same. If we’re going to plan, we need rest and more information. Sleep now, call Derek in the morning.”

“She’s got a point,” Boyd says. “You’ve got practical friends.” His small smile is approving, and Erica blows kisses to Lydia with her fingertips as Lydia ushers Scott out the door.

“I’ll get spaces ready.” Danny starts nudging people towards rooms, bodily moving Isaac when he lingers, staring at the door where Scott left. “Don’t worry about McCall. He’ll come around when he’s had time to think. He’s had a lot dumped on him in the last few hours. We all have. It’s been a rough few days, and we need time to process. Let the rest of us catch up with the wild life you guys live, okay?”

Cora follows Stiles into the bedroom, leaning against the door, not budging when he starts to yank his shirt off.

“Do you mind?” he says dryly.

“I’ve seen naked men before, and I’m not interested in you. I wouldn’t do that to Derek.” She waves off his concern with a flick of her fingers. “This place reeks of him, Stiles. He’s invested. You’re probably invested. All I _heard_ about for two months was _you_.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles turns to sit on the edge of the bed, touching the space next to him until she joins him there.

“I mean I had an accident about eight months ago. The kind I almost didn’t recover from.” Cora makes a face, pulls up her shirt to expose a long, jagged scar across her belly. “Werewolves don’t usually scar, so this is unusual. I don’t even remember what happened, just waking up and Derek was there, and I was surrounded by the pack I’ve been staying with in Venezuela. They’d somehow put me back together and called Derek because I needed family to heal after they brought me back from almost dead. It took a month of him sitting by my side, and when he finally was able to think clearly again, he had to replace the phone he lost somewhere on the way to getting to me. He knew he hadn’t talked to you, but the month was just _gone_ , and then he figured that after a month, why bother? You never saw him as anything more than a fuck buddy anyway, right? So he stayed with me until I was well, then he started up with his job, traveling again. Until now. He called me before he got on the plane to come here, right after Isaac called him. What happened to you was important to him, and he treated you like pack. So don’t fuck that up, Stiles. Okay?”

“My entire life has turned upside down in the last few days, and like Danny said, we all need some time to catch up.” Stiles glances over at her. “Obviously I haven’t thrown him out.” He pauses with a rueful smile. “Okay, I threw him out when I thought he was lying, but not when he showed me glowing eyes and sharp teeth, not when he told me that his blood is the reason someone stole my daughter. But we’re not going to just pick up where we left off, either. It’s not that easy Cora, not after all this time. I’m sorry you were hurt, but he should’ve said something. Even after a month, he should’ve said something. Or told Isaac to say something. The fact that he just walked away makes it hard to believe he’s _invested_.”

“Werewolves don’t only think with their heads.” She touches the side of her nose. “We can see more evidence than you can—werewolves actually make great cops. You could try trusting him.”

“That’s already done,” Stiles admits. “It’s the rest that’s up for debate.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “One day at a time, I guess. I’m sleeping on your couch, just so you know. Derek said he was changing the locks, but I still don’t like the idea that we’re all gathered in one place like an offering.”

“You called them all here.” Stiles remembers what Derek said about the fire and his family, and he can see Cora’s point, but it’s not _his_ fault they’re squeezed into his small apartment.

“We need to protect you. And each other.” When she bumps his shoulder, Stiles feels the strength in it. She stands and looks back at him. “So we’re here, and we’re acting like pack. _Your_ pack. Get some rest, Stiles. Hopefully we’ll be able to get Maddie back soon.”

#

“I’m going out.” Stiles is hopping on one foot, trying to jam his other foot into his jeans, praying that maybe they’ll zip up. This is the pair he bought when he was about four months pregnant and trying to pretend it was nothing still, that everything was just like it had always been. They’re his denial jeans, and frankly, denial is starting to seem like a permanent state of mind. Denial about anything being wrong, denial about a potential relationship. Just… denial.

He manages to pull the jeans up and when they button he lets out a short whoop that leaves Scott laughing and Cora glaring at him.

“You are not going out,” she says sharply. “Derek was _specific_ about keeping you safe. Which means tell us what you need and we’ll go get it.”

“It’s been _two days_ since he left,” Stiles protests. “You can’t keep me prisoner in my own house.”

She flicks her fingers and claws pop from the tip of each one. “Watch me.”

“Stand down.” Isaac curls his fingers over her hand, pushing it lower. Stiles can see the way her claws prick at his skin, tiny droplets of blood welling up, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. “I’ll go with him.”

“Oh _that_ ought to be fun. Could I take Erica instead? Or Erica _and_ Boyd?” Stiles can’t imagine spending the day with just him and Isaac and he is _not_ going to suggest taking Scott with them so Stiles can play third wheel.

“I’ll go.” Danny stands in the door to the room, hands in his pockets. “Lydia’s finally unpacking into our hotel room, and she’s realized just how much we forgot, so she wants me to pick some things up for her. If you were planning to go to a store…”

“Food shopping. Necessary item shopping.” Stiles glances at the door, thinking about what is and isn’t in the small nursery that he had decorated for Maddie. He wonders if buying diapers would be planning ahead or wishful thinking, then he decidedly doesn’t think about it again. “And fine. I’ll take both Danny and Isaac with me, and you guys can stay here, talk to Derek, do whatever you need to do in order to find these people and get my daughter back.”

“Lydia’s going by the sheriff’s department to talk to Jackson,” Danny says, and Stiles can fill in the blanks that this means his father is about to get the full details. He sighs heavily. Life can only go downhill after this.

“This isn’t business for humans, unless you know some friendly hunters.” There’s a sneer in Cora’s voice at the word _hunters_ , and Stiles abruptly remembers what Derek said about the kind of people who kill werewolves.

“They’re going to be helping us, and Jackson may be a dick, but he’s good at what he does. Dad trusts him, and Dad’s one of the best there is. Besides.” Stiles makes a face. “These particular humans are going to be a part of this eventually whether you like it or not. Danny and Lydia are two of my best friends, and Jackson’s theirs. And Dad needs to know about Derek and Maddie. So just use the resources offered, Cora.”

“Pack growth is good.” Boyd’s voice is a low rumble, and the glow in Cora’s eyes fades at his words. Erica smirks proudly, puts her arms around Boyd’s neck and leans in to give him a kiss of approval.

“Pack protects pack.” Cora takes two quick steps closer, gets in Isaac’s face which is impressive considering how much taller he is than her. She jabs a claw-tipped finger against his chest and it has to hurt but he doesn’t even move. “This is our alpha’s…” Her gaze flicks to Stiles, suddenly uncertain.

“Go with _baby momma_ because it’s about as close as we’re going to get right this second,” Stiles says dryly. Erica snorts loudly, burying her face in Boyd’s shoulder to muffle her laugh.

“He’s important to _Derek_ ,” Cora hisses. “If anything happens to him—”

“I know.” Isaac pulls Cora in tight against his chest, holds on hard as he rubs her shoulders, kisses the top of her head. “And Derek’s _fine_ too. He’s doing whatever he was doing with your family’s stuff in storage, and he’ll be back soon, and we’ll get Maddie and we’ll figure out this new pack and it’ll be fine. And you can go back to Venezuela—”

“Or not,” Erica suggests, and no one thinks to contradict her.

Cora pulls back, expression closed off. It reminds Stiles abruptly of Derek, and he can see the resemblance sharply in her features. “Scent him,” she orders, and she reaches for Stiles, nuzzles against his shoulder and throat and he can just barely feel the hint of teeth. It makes him think it _should_ be erotic, but it isn’t, not at all.

When she steps back, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd take their turns. Without being prompted, Scott awkwardly does the same, and Danny rolls his eyes when Cora gestures for him to do it as well.

“Pack,” Boyd says, and Danny does it, then lets the others leave their scent on him as well.

“I guess I could get used to hot guys rubbing their faces on my skin,” Danny muses when he, Isaac, and Stiles are settling into the car. “But it’s a little weird right now when it’s not someone I’m sleeping with.”

“You get used to it,” Isaac mutters. “And you get used to not getting jealous.”

Stiles keeps his opinion on that to himself; he heard the low growl when Scott nuzzled against Stiles, even though Isaac knows damn well there’s never been anything between them. Hell, before Isaac, Scott never even looked at a guy before. But he also knows that jealousy doesn’t listen to reason; if it did, he wouldn’t worry about losing his best friend.

Funny to think that _that_ is the thing he and Isaac have in common.

Stiles heads to the mall first, aiming straight into his favorite department store and the active wear section. Sweats until it’s time to go back to work; he’ll deal with the suits when his leave is over. He has one that was let out when he was in the early stages, so it might work for a little while, but if he’s going to trial regularly, he needs more than one suit that fits.

On the other hand, when he finds Maddie, they’ll have to give him the full leave, and that’ll give him a chance to get back to his pre-pregnant size before going back to work. It’s not worth buying suits in the meantime.

Sweats, on the other hand, can always expand and contract as needed and are comfortable as shit, so he’ll get a few new pairs of those.

Danny sifts through the options with Stiles while Isaac stands nearby, his head lifted slightly, nostrils flared. “If you need to go check something out, we’re okay here,” Danny suggests. “You look like something’s bothering you.”

“I keep swearing I smell…” Isaac’s voice trails off. “I’m probably being paranoid—I blame Cora for getting into my head because she’s really good at it—but I want to check it out. _Don’t go anywhere_ ,” he orders. “Stay right here.”

“I’m not going to be attacked by a display of sweatpants,” Stiles says dryly. “Go. Investigate. Feel better and come on back. I’ll even wait for you to get back before I go try things on. Which I wouldn’t have to do except that I am still _fat_ which is why we’re shopping in the first place.”

“Just go.” Danny gives Isaac a nudge before they can escalate past small jibes into full on taunts and insults. “I’ve got this.” He waits until Isaac is out of earshot—although Stiles wonders how well werewolves can hear and if he really _is_ far enough away—to say, “Is this really about needing clothes, or is just about getting out of the house? Because I’m happy to help you try on the whole store if you just need to stretch your legs for a while. Lydia isn’t the only one who can dress you up like a doll.”

“I remember and am thankful for your help years ago when I set up my work wardrobe,” Stiles tells him. “And yes, I wanted to get out of the house, but I also really just need some things to lounge around in for the next month before I go back to suits every day. I could probably also use new running shoes before we get out of the mall because for some strange reason, I have some weight to lose. And a jogging stroller. I need a jogging stroller.”

Danny hesitates, a shirt in his hand, held out to Stiles. His expression goes through a complicated dance that Stiles can’t follow before it seems to settle on concerned. “Maybe you should wait until we bring Maddie home before you get the stroller.”

Stiles ducks his head, lets his gaze drop. “I thought about that. But I also thought about how being positive might help. I know I’m bringing Maddie home. There’s no other option.” He glances up, but Danny is no longer looking at him, staring at something past Stiles shoulder instead. “What?”

Stiles turns, to see a good looking guy there, a friendly smile lighting his lips. “Danny!” the guy calls out in a voice higher than Stiles expects to hear from him.

“Ethan?”

“Aidan.” He laughs slightly, coming closer and Stiles is wary enough of strangers that his body goes stiff in anticipation of someone approaching. Aidan doesn’t even look at him, just reaches out to clasp Danny’s hand and hold on firmly. “Ethan’s off doing his own thing in the mall. We’re in town visiting friends, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I grew up here, and just came back for a visit with a friend.” Danny puts a hand on Stiles’s shoulder, and with the tightening of his fingers, it’s more possessive than Stiles is used to from Danny. “Stiles, this is Aidan. You heard Lydia talk about him. I mentioned his twin, Ethan.”

“I remember.” The twins that they had a three night stand with. _Werewolves_. “Nice to meet you.” 

Aidan bares his teeth when Stiles doesn’t offer his hand, the grin sharp. “I don’t bite,” he says, voice low. “Not unless someone asks, and anyway, you’re not my type.”

“Back off, Aidan.” Danny’s voice is more serious than Stiles is used to.

“Don’t worry, I can smell the pack on him.” Aidan raises his hands. “I wouldn’t want to step into someone else’s territory. He reeks.” There’s a bright and high sound, and Aidan fishes a phone out of his pocket to read a text. When he’s done he’s grinning, and holds the phone up briefly before putting it in his pocket. “That’s Ethan. We’re going to meet up in the food court, if you want to join us Danny. I know he’d like to see you. It’d be a good surprise after a rough few days.”

Danny hesitates, and for a moment, Stiles feels guilty. Who is he to cockblock the guy? On the other hand, they promised to stay _right here_ and Isaac isn’t back yet. “I’ll just text Isaac,” Stiles says. “I’ll let him know where we’re going and tell him to catch up with us there.” He gestures at Aidan, the movement small but meant to indicate _we’re with another werewolf that you trust, how bad could it be_?

It takes him a minute to find Isaac in his contacts, his name now updated to _pack asshole deal with it_. He sends off the text, then puts the phone back in his pockets and sets the sweats down. “I can shop any time,” Stiles says, and motions to the way out. “Let’s go.”

When they reach the exit, Aidan bumps into him, reaches out to catch him, claws digging in as Stiles flails out, one hand knocking into Danny. “Oh yeah, thanks. Never had good balance.” Stiles manages to catch his feet, but the room is still wavering, the lights too bright in the mall. He blinks, sees the haloes around the lights and his stomach twists. “Fuck.”

“What?” Danny looks over, and Stiles has just enough focus to see Aidan drag his claws along Danny’s forearm, blood welling up moments before Danny’s gaze clouds over. “Oh.”

Aidan gets an arm under Stiles’s shoulder, and someone Stiles doesn’t recognize comes out of the shadows to take Danny. They look like a couple of drunk guys being escorted out as they stumble through the mall and all Stiles can think is _oh shit_ because where the fuck is Isaac and is he okay, and how are they going to let anyone know?

Stiles manages to wedge one hand into his pocket, pulls his phone out and has a text half composed to Scott out of sheer muscle memory before Aidan grabs the phone from him and punctures it with one sharp claw.

“Sorry, no.” Aidan tosses the phone in the fountain, Danny’s close behind. Aidan leans in, whispers in his ear, “Your daughter needs you. Just behave yourself and you’ll see her again, and I’ll even keep Danny here alive, since Ethan’s been missing him. Shut up, walk, and you’ll be with your girl soon.”

Shutting up isn’t difficult; Stiles has no words left, nothing coherent in his head. He stumbles onward, lets Aidan almost carry him from the mall to a car. He has to trust that they won’t hurt him, not when they say Maddie needs him.

And Stiles needs Maddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Yes, the angst has returned! BUT. I thought and thought and decided that instead of drawing this out for another few weeks (I was going to start posting twice a week on Wednesday) that I just wanted to POST. So starting today and going through Tuesday, I will post a chapter every day until it is done. Enjoy.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for commenting. So many <3!! 
> 
> If you'd like to find me, I'm [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Imprisonment, bondage, violence. Enforced and unwilling drug use and manipulation. See end for details if you need them prior to reading.

Stiles passes out in the car and comes back to consciousness lying on the floor of a room that seems surprisingly nice to his foggy mind. It looks like it should be someone’s bedroom, if he were actually sleeping in the _bed_ that’s on the other side of the room, and if it weren’t for the eyebolts in the wall and heavy chain linked to the thick leather straps around his wrists. Werewolves, he reminds himself. Or possibly kink. _Probably_ werewolves. Either way, this isn’t where he expected to end up.

“He had something on his claws.”

Stiles rolls over, looks across the room to find Danny sitting cross-legged, his wrists bound and bolted to an eyebolt as well, the chain lax enough to let his hands rest against his knees. Danny shrugs his shoulders. “Ethan came in while you were unconscious, and it was easy to get him talking. Aidan had something on his claws that knocked us out.”

“Your boyfriend seems like a dick,” Stiles mutters, his throat still thick from the after-effects of the drug. 

“Aidan’s a dick—remember, Lydia likes to fuck assholes,” Danny says easily. “Ethan can be kind of a dick, but he’s not the kind of guy who kidnaps babies.” When Stiles gives him a doubtful look, Danny makes a face. “Normally he’s not. On the other hand, this is his pack.”

“His pack.” Stiles lifts his wrists, shakes the chains. “Your boyfriend is not only a dick, he’s apparently kinky.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, and there’s something you need to know before—”

The door opens and Danny falls silent. Three men walk in—one older man with a long white cane, touching the ground before him, and two identical men that Stiles recognizes. “Ethan and Aidan,” Stiles says, and one smirks while the other glances at Danny. “I can’t say I’m impressed with your taste, Danny, and I honestly thought Lydia had figured out that assholes aren’t any fun after she was done with Jackson.”

There’s a small, thin sound, and Stiles goes silent. He looks at the twins—really _looks_ at them—and he sees the small, squirming bundle cradled against one’s chest. He makes a choked noise, strains against the straps and chains, unable to say anything coherent.

And as soon as she hears his pained sound, she starts to cry in earnest, sharp wails that cut through his heart and tear at his gut.

“Give her to me.” Stiles is ashamed of the way his voice breaks. He wants to order the other men, but he _can’t_. He isn’t anything but a human male omega, and he sees the way the twins’ eyes flash red when they look at him.

They’re alphas. That probably means they’re in charge here.

“Not the kind of guy who kidnaps babies _my ass_ ,” Stiles mutters, and the one holding Maddie looks up finally, meets his gaze. For a moment, Stiles thinks he’s apologetic, but it doesn’t matter. He’s holding Maddie, and Stiles wants her.

“Ethan, give me the child.” The older man smiles thinly, glasses covering his eyes so Stiles can’t see where he is looking or the color of his eyes. Stiles is pretty sure it doesn’t matter—the cane probably means he’s blind—but he’s not willing to bet on it. Besides, he doesn’t know how _blind_ and _werewolf_ interact, and if this man is ordering alphas around, Stiles has to assume he has power.

Maddie cries through the transfer, the blanket that wraps around her falling away to show dark hair, thick on top of her head. 

“Very good. Now strip Mr. Stilinski to the waist and place him on the bed,” the older man orders.

This is his chance.

As soon as Ethan unclips the cuff from the chain, Stiles lashes out, punches the werewolf with everything he’s got. The strike goes wild, but he doesn’t let it stop him, lashing out again and again, twisting between their grip when Aidan frees his other wrist. He twists between them, struggles to get free, kicks his legs out. Only against them, not the other man, not anywhere that might hurt his daughter. He needs to get away and he needs to get Maddie back.

Aidan picks him up, throws him onto the bed hard enough to take his breath away. Before he can react, roll over, try again, Ethan has one wrist firmly in his clawed hand and fastens the manacle to a new chain. He’s stretched out, hands over his head, feet wrapped together and bound to a single chain at the foot of the bed. He arches and screams, but he can’t get free.

“I am going to claw that smirk off your face,” Stiles snarls, and Aidan laughs at him, flicks his claws out and puts them right in front of Stiles’s nose.

“My claws against yours,” he says. “All day, any day.” The smirk twists Aidan’s mouth cruelly. “This isn’t a fight you can win, little omega. You should have just accepted it, let her go.”

“You need me.” Stiles knows they do, knows that’s the only reason he’s here and alive. He’s not sure why they didn’t bother to kill Danny, and if it’s due to Ethan, he’s thankful for that at least. “ _She_ needs me.”

“Indeed she does.” The older man moves forward, lets his fingers skim against Stiles’s chest, learning the shape of him while he stares into the distance. A moment later he lowers the wrapped bundle carefully, the blankets falling away as Maddie is revealed, clad only in a diaper. She lies against Stiles’s chest, skin to skin, and whuffles softly as she nuzzles him and sighs.

Stiles doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare breathe.

“I wouldn’t recommend struggling, Mr. Stilinski,” the other man murmurs. “We wouldn’t want damage to come to our daughter.”

“She’s not _yours_ ,” Stiles snarls.

“I beg to differ. Possession is nine tenths of the law, after all.”

“And thieves are still prosecuted to the fullest,” Stiles snaps back. 

“What would you do, incarcerate an old blind man?” His mouth curls in amusement. “How would a man such as myself mastermind stealing your child? And what would they do when the full moon comes?” At Stiles’s stuttered breath, the man laughs softly. “Yes, Mr. Stilinski, the legends are true. When the moon rises full, we are stronger than anything you could imagine, and as wild as nature itself. I would tear myself free of any prison, and the guards would merely fuel my hunger. So perhaps it is in the world’s best interests if we discuss this politely. With humanity, so as to find the best way forward for our little girl.”

Stiles wants to shout, to scream. He wants to rage and try to get loose, but he doesn’t want to disturb the small child lying on his chest, her warmth seeping into his skin, spreading out to leave him breathless. This is Maddie. This is his _daughter_. She’s alive.

“Maddie,” he whispers.

“Is that her name?” The man tilts a hand, sets the cane aside before he sits on the edge of the bed next to Stiles. “I suppose we can accommodate your choice; it is a simple thing to do. And perhaps I should introduce myself. I am Deucalion.”

“I’d shake your hand, but I seem to be a bit tied up,” Stiles snarks, his gaze never leaving Maddie. 

“As you shall remain,” Deucalion says. “Ethan, Aidan—go tell Kali that all is well, and Maddie is now satisfied. Bring her bottle; she’ll be hungry once she’s satisfied the requirements of her parental bond.”

“You do realize that an omega/child bond isn’t a one time thing,” Stiles tells him. “I have no idea if things might be different in the world of wild furries, but if she doesn’t have me, she could die.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” Deucalion reaches out, and Stiles twists his face, not wanting to be touched but unable to avoid the fingers that drag across his face, testing the lines of his nose and profile. “We plan on keeping you with us, Mr. Stilinski, until Maddie is as strong as we know she will become. For now, you are safe. Bound, but safe.”

It’s not a comfort. Deucalion may seem to be blind, but it also feels like he’s looking right through Stiles, staring into him and smirking, pleased, when Stiles’s heart stutters in his chest. 

“I want to touch her,” Stiles mutters. Maddie is asleep, making small snuffling noises as she breathes, and Stiles swears he can sense exhaustion wafting off of her body. “She needs me.”

“She has you.” Deucalion lightly touches Maddie’s head, and Stiles growls, all too aware at just how much he sounds like Derek in that moment. “She doesn’t need more than this; skin to skin contact will solidify your bond.” He pauses, hand lightly cupping the curls on her head. “There is, of course, another option, should you wish to stay in Maddie’s life for good.”

Stiles is pretty damned sure he won’t like it, whatever it is. “Oh?”

Deucalion’s grin is feral, his teeth sharp in a human mouth. “Join our pack. All you need to do is accept the bite, and once it takes, kill Derek to take his alpha spark. Then you can join our pack of alphas and Maddie will belong to all of us. She’ll never need to be parted from you again.

He was right; he doesn’t like that at all. “That’s all, huh?” Stiles snorts, shakes his head and it disturbs Maddie, makes her wiggle in her sleep. “No. And if you don’t like that answer, let me say it to you again, in Spanish: _no_.” His lips press together, the expression twisting his face nothing like humor at all. “I wouldn’t be in your pack if it was my last option to stay alive, and I’m sure as fuck not going to kill Derek to do it.”

“Even for Maddie?” Deucalion scoops her up, turning away from Stiles and hiding her with his body as someone else enters the room. He can hear her small cry of frustration, but can’t see her when she’s handed to the woman. There’s a small sound and he realizes that the woman has put a bottle in her mouth, and Maddie is sucking furiously at it.

“There we go, Kali,” Deucalion murmurs. “Now that she has her father, she will gorge herself.”

“If you actually cared about her, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Kali looks at him, and Stiles can just barely see Maddie, her body shaking with the way she suckles hungrily at the bottle. “If you cared about her, you would let her go,” Kali says. “She is ours now and we will raise her to be an alpha among alphas, a perfect wolf. Would it have been easier if we had let you keep her, then taken her after a year or two had passed?” Kali’s expression is one of distaste. “We were kind to take her when we did. Let her go, in your heart.”

“Bitch.”

“And proud to be one.” Kali exchanges a glance with Deucalion, then takes a step toward the door. “Ennis is waiting for you.”

“Ah, yes.” Deucalion rises slowly, retrieves his cane and makes himself steady on his feet, oriented toward Kali’s voice and the door. “We have things to discuss, particularly around his lack of follow through where the young wolf was concerned. I do not like witnesses; next time he will need to be more thorough.” He pauses at the door, turns back to look in Stiles’s direction even though his gaze never meets his. “Don’t worry, we will return. We wish nothing but the best for your little girl. She is our future, after all.”

“And he is creepy,” Danny says, breaking his silence as the door closes.

“I don’t know how well werewolves hear in reality, but in legends they were pretty damned good at it, and Isaac seemed pretty confident in how well they could hear,” Stiles says quietly. “So I’m not going to say anything that they might hear and use against us.”

“What do you think happened to Isaac?”

Stiles winces, because that’s something he’s trying not to think about. “Alive,” he whispers. “It sounds like Ennis left him alive, and Deucalion doesn’t approve, or else that’s what they want us to think. Maybe they want us to think that Ennis—I’m assuming that’s the guy who was with Aidan when they picked us up—is sympathetic. Which is not a vibe I got from him at all.”

When he looks, Danny has one eyebrow raised, a small smile just starting. Stiles sighs.

“Okay, staying silent is not my strong suit, but in my defense, you _did_ ask a question.” Stiles wishes he could roll over, wishes he could even move his hands and feet to someplace more comfortable. Instead he stretches in his bonds and tries not to think about the warmth that no longer lies against his chest, leaving him cold and shivering. “We just need to bide our time. We’ll figure something out.”

“We will,” Danny agrees. “A hotshot lawyer and a hacker, can’t be beat.”

“Like a buddy movie gone wrong,” Stiles says dryly. He hears Danny laugh, but he closes his eyes against everything else, as if by shutting out the light he can make the whole world go away. It works for ostriches, why can’t it work for him?

#

Stiles thinks his hands are asleep. He’s not sure, because the ache in his shoulders overtakes everything else, not to mention that his ass hurts from lying in one place. When the door opens, he twists in place to see who comes in, his expression dropping into an intense scowl as soon as he sees. “Jennifer Blake.”

“Call me Julia.” Her voice is light, just as comfortable and easy as he remembers from that one night. “Jennifer was a construct, and while she had a good time, I’ve let her go and returned to my usual persona. Welcome to our pack, Stiles.”

“I’m not part of your pack.”

She removes a cap from the tip of a needle she carries, and holds it upright, tapping it as she checks the liquid inside. “You will be,” she tells him, just before she grips his wrist to keep him from moving and carefully injects it into his vein. It’s cold going in, and he shivers before relaxing, his mind fogged and body limp. “There we go. Just a little something to keep you lax so I can move you around without worrying. I’ve heard you’re a fighter, and you wouldn’t want to hit a girl.”

“I’d make an exception for you, or for Kali,” Stiles says darkly, the words thick on his tongue. She unhitches one wrist and Stiles tries to swing it at her, his hand falling heavily to the mattress below him. Between the pain in his arm and the fact that a part of him just doesn’t seem to want to work, he can’t do anything.

Her smile is polite and kind as she strokes his hair in a parody of comfort. “Not today you won’t,” she says quietly. “This is my own special formulation, designed to increase the obedience of an omega. I’m not an alpha, but no matter what I suggest, you’ll do it. It’s quite powerful. Now, as soon as I get you unbound, I’d like you to sit up with your hands in your lap, Stiles. We need to ensure that you have blood flow to your limbs.”

His mind screams as he does exactly what she requests, ending up leaning against the wall, his knees bent and his hands between his knees, skin on fire as the blood flows back to his fingertips. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes but don’t fall, not without permission.

“Fuck you,” he manages to force past his lips, and she laughs delightedly.

“Your daughter is such a beautiful girl.” Julia pours water from a bottle into a small bin, then dips a cloth in and smooths it over Stiles’s skin. “She’s strong-minded already, and with Hale blood and yours, she will someday be a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps she will end up leading us all.”

“Maybe she’ll kill you all.” If Stiles has to leave her here, he hopes that it happens, that Maddie never believes them, always fights back against them. She’s a Stilinski through and through, after all.

“Are you planning on drugging me as well?”

Julia pauses in her bathing of Stiles’s skin to glance back at where Danny kneels on the floor, close enough to the wall that he has both his hands in his lap, the chains loose. He smiles, cheeks dimpling. “You don’t need to drug me,” he says.

Stiles snorts.

“I know when to be quiet and shut up,” Danny continues as if Stiles hadn’t done anything. “Stiles would fight until he died, but I don’t want to risk him or his daughter. I’m all yours, and I’ll do whatever you need me to do, as long as they’re still alive.”

“So noble.” Julia drops the cloth on the bed and turns her back on Stiles in order to move closer to Danny, crouching by his side. It’s a perfect moment to act, except he can’t _do_ anything, despite the way Danny is giving him the eye to do _something_. Julia ignores him, trusting in the drugs, and Stiles rails against it inwardly.

“Not noble, practical,” Danny says, dimples still showing deeply as his eyes crinkle from the smile. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Her hand drifts against Danny’s cheek briefly, as if she’s trying to feel the truth of what he says through his skin. “I can’t trust you, and I don’t want to knock you out completely. You have no omega genetic programming to use against you, so I’m afraid that while I can leave you enough room in your chains to feed yourself, you will remain bound. I think you will survive.”

“And when I have to pee?”

Julia points to a bucket in the corner, the one thing out of place in the otherwise well appointed bedroom. “You have facilities. I’m sorry about the stink, but magic can only do so much.”

Gross. Not really a thought Stiles wants to deal with at the moment, although he’s surprised at his lack of need so far.

Julia stays crouched close to Danny, turning away from him to look at Stiles. “You’ll be good for the pack. You should take Deucalion’s offer, convince your friend here to do so as well if you want. Bite him once you’re an alpha, find him an alpha to kill of his own. I know Ethan wouldn’t mind keeping him. You have so many choices, Stiles, and all of them can lead to you raising Maddie with us, into the most powerful pack you will ever find.” Danny’s friendly smile drops away and he pulls his hands closer to his body, turning away as he drops his gaze.

She rises slowly, with a long-legged grace that lets Stiles see exactly what drew Heather to her. It’s a bit like watching a predatory gazelle as Julia approaches the bed, crawling up onto the surface and settling in next to Stiles, one hand on his knee as she reaches for the bag she brought in to bring out food. She tosses a wrapped sandwich to Danny, not bothering to see that he has to crawl and reach for it, his teeth gritted as he refuses to look at Stiles. 

To Stiles she offers cheese and fruit, bidding him, “Eat,” and he does, bite by bite, because his body won’t let him do anything else.

“I know your heritage,” she says softly. “I’ve never seen an emissary bitten before, but it would be an excellent experiment. I would be fascinated to see how you keep balance, how you maintain your humanity and your place in the world after the beast slips under your skin. It would be beautiful to watch.

When he finishes the plate of fruit and cheese, she gives him a buttered roll and a long gulp of water from a plastic bottle. It doesn’t feel like enough food or drink, but it seems to be all that they are going to get. Danny has already devoured his sandwich and twists the plastic wrap between his hands, stretching it out long and thin.

Stiles wonders if Danny has it in him, if he could do it and attack Jennifer with a string of plastic wrap.

They don’t get the chance to find out.

She rises gracefully, packs her bag and sets it on the bed before she orders Stiles into position on the floor again, seated with his back to the wall, his wrists chained but more comfortable than he’d been stretched out on the bed. “Get some rest,” she urges him, brushing a kiss against his cheek that Stiles can’t pull away from. “Maddie’s safe now, and she’ll stay safe until you make your decision. Think all you need, but I know you’ll do the right thing in the end. After all, this is your daughter. You’d do anything for her.”

The door closes with a thunk, and Stiles leans back, head striking against the wall. The minor impact feels good, like he has _some_ control over his body after all, and he wonders how long it will take the drugs to wear off.

“I try to sell myself out, and they don’t even listen. Or actually look at me, which was what I was hoping for.” Danny shakes his head, and something clunks on the floor in front of him. When Stiles looks over, he sees a phone, and Danny working on it, his tongue between his teeth. A moment later, he’s grinning. “It doesn’t matter how smart they are,” Danny murmurs. “Over half of the users of this particular phone use a simple pattern for their lock code. They make it so easy.”

“What?” Stiles can’t form more words than that, can’t quite process that they somehow have a _phone_ , that Danny stole them a lifeline. They can _rebel_. 

Danny carefully types on the screen, then holds it up. Stiles has to squint to see the words, but he knows the number by heart. The text is to Lydia, and it says simply _GPS this number_.

Danny pushes send, then turns the volume off and buries the phone in the nearest corner he can reach. Stiles can barely breathe because that? That’s rescue. That’s a way out. Lydia will tell his dad, and his dad will get the phone information, and someone will come. This is going to be over soon.

#

Stiles dozes. Now that he’s seen Maddie, the itch under his skin to be with his daughter is lessened, and he’s able to close his eyes and relax. He suspects that if she cries anywhere nearby, he’ll know, but for now, he can rest. He drifts in and out of dreams, his mind offering odd theories and explanations until he can’t ignore the fact that the howling that he thinks he hears is not in his mind.

The howling is _real_.

It’s faint enough to make him wonder just how far they are away and what he’s hearing, but it still tugs at his heart. And there’s an answer closer to home, a thin, shrill shriek, just for a moment.

“Maddie!” Stiles tries to jump to his feet, yanked back down by the chains until he lands in a heap, waking Danny.

“What?”

“Wolves. Howling. And Maddie crying, but it stopped.” Stiles hates the way the silence came up around her, like she just ended somehow. If something horrible had happened, he’d know, he’s sure of it. They bonded when Deucalion brought her in, and Stiles is absolutely positive that no one can ever lie to him about Maddie being dead again.

“Do you think they came?”

“How long has it been?” Stiles answers Danny’s question with another question. He hasn’t really been thinking about the passage of time, but he thought it would take longer for his dad to get a trace on the phone. Unless they had enough faith that they were just waiting. Or maybe they were on their way beforehand. “Can werewolves track people by scent like hounds?”

“I’m not sure I’d make dog jokes around them.” Danny rolls to a sitting position, shaking his hands to bring back the blood flow. “Is it getting louder?”

There are growls now, loud rumbling sounds that slip under Stiles’s skin, and he nods. “Yeah. And angrier.” He has no way of distinguishing voices, no way of telling one werewolf from another, but he has a feeling there are a lot of them in action out there. He’s just hoping his side has enough.

“In here.” Isaac’s voice sounds in the hallway, then the door breaks open and three people tumble through. Erica and Cora fall to their knees by Stiles, each taking a wrist and inspecting his manacles, while Isaac looks to Danny.

“You got our message?” Stiles asks.

“We were able to use it to confirm what we already suspected, yes,” Erica says. “The problem is, we are seriously outfanged here, and we need to get you two out of here quickly.”

“And Maddie.” Stiles rubs at one wrist after Cora uses a claw to pop the manacle open. “She’s nearby. I heard her crying when she heard your howl.” Cora pops the second manacle, and he shakes his hands, wincing at the pins and needles of renewed blood flow. “Come on, we can go get her.”

Cora holds up her hand and cocks her head, nose wrinkled. As soon as she goes silent, Isaac and Erica do as well, and Stiles has to bite his tongue not to say how much they look like dogs listening to distant sounds. A glance at Danny shows that he’s probably biting back words as well, and Stiles smirks slightly, despite the gravity of the situation.

“I don’t hear anything,” Cora says. Isaac and Erica shake their heads as well.

“I hear plenty, but nothing that sounds like a baby,” Isaac offers. The sounds of fighting are closer now, growls and grunts and the occasional ringing thud that sounds like a body being thrown against a wall, and the accompanying howl of pain. 

“It sounds like we’re getting our asses kicked.” Erica makes a face. “Stiles, it’s possible that whoever had her ran when they heard us coming. We need to get you two out of here first, regroup, and make a new plan to go after Maddie.”

“I’m not going anywhere without my daughter.” Stiles takes a step back, his hands in the air when Cora reaches for him. “No, don’t even try. I am _not_ leaving her behind.”

Cora growls, and Stiles takes another step back on legs that don’t feel like they really work. “Don’t,” he says. “Just don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Julia stands in the doorway, a giant man behind her that Stiles recognizes from the kidnapping. “Don’t just walk right past us, thinking you can get away?” She laughs, gestures for the man to come forward. “Ennis has something to say about that. And no, three on one is not _unfair_ for him. Not any more unfair than sending your alpha up against a blind man and some twins.” She crosses her arms, shakes her head. “You didn’t even tell your humans to put wolfsbane in their weapons. Kali laughed when she—”

“Dad.” The words is strangled Stiles’s throat. “Dad’s here? Is he okay? You didn’t kill him.”

“No, we haven’t killed any of the humans yet.” Julia points to him, and just like that, Stiles can’t move, can’t take a step forward to save his life. He rocks on his feet trying, almost falling over with the motion before he ends up rocking backwards again, into the wall. “After all, things that can die can be used as leverage.”

“You won’t kill him.” Stiles is certain. “You want me to join your pack, help keep Maddie stable and sane. You’re not going to hurt my dad.” It sounds reasonable. At least he _hopes_ it sounds reasonable.

Julia shrugs, and it’s a pretty gesture. “I want you to join the pack, you want your daughter, I know where your daughter actually is. It’s all a stand-off, Stiles. If your friends kill me and Ennis to get out of here, you will _never_ find Maddie, I promise you that. If you stay, eventually your friends will die to give you power. It’s your choice.”

“Maddie isn’t here,” Cora says quietly. “If she were, I’d smell her, and I’d hear her. That woman got her out of here is my guess.”

“Me, one of my pack, something like that.” Julia gestures, and Ennis grabs Isaac by the scruff of the neck with one hand, his other hand twisting in Danny’s collar to drag them both forward. “This is the part where you go along with whatever I want, Stiles, and your daughter is safe. Tell your friends to put their claws away.”

“Do what she says.” His voice is tight in his throat, and he tries to plead with his eyes, beg them to understand.

“We don’t die easy,” Cora says quietly. “Hales are the strongest pack out there, either born or bitten. Don’t underestimate us, witch.”

“ _Emissary_ ,” Julia corrects sharply. “And I don’t. Hales are _gullible_ , little girl. They like to believe the best of people, and they _die_ so nicely when they are caught out. When the time comes, I know exactly what to do with all of you. For now, incarceration is the best option.”

Stiles isn’t going to let his friends die. Whether he’s known them forever or just met them, whether he actually _likes_ them or is jealous as fuck, he’s going to make sure they stay alive. He’s trying to go along with what Julia wants for now, hoping that somewhere she’ll let down her guard. As soon as she slips, lets him know where Maddie is, then they’ll take her out.

He only hopes that the others are following the same plan he is. It’s going to be awkward if they’re not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers from the warning: Stiles and Danny are chained. Stiles is physically wrestled and bound by the twins. Jennifer/Julia drugs Stiles to make him obey her and to be able to manipulate him physically without being overpowered.
> 
> Happy Saturday! Yes, it's only about twelve hours after the last post, because I usually post in the morning, and I'm not sure when I'll be back this afternoon (going to a party). I think it's a good thing I'm posting this one right after the other, every day, because the action is rolling forward right about now. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you so much for the wonderful, brilliant comments. <3 You are all so lovely!! The next post will be Sunday, July 12th in the morning, and I will see you then. Until then, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	8. Chapter 8

It’s not a rescue; it’s a clusterfuck. Cora growls as Ennis wraps her wrists in something that’s apparently werewolf-proof, then does the same for Erica and Isaac. Stiles can’t look at them, not after Erica bared her teeth and snarled, and Isaac made a snide comment, then fell silent when Julia ordered him to shut up. Isaac hasn’t stopped glaring, and from the look of it he’d be talking if he could, and it makes Stiles wonder just how Julia’s order is working to keep Isaac quiet.

Danny and Stiles are cuffed again, and Julia and Ennis drag them into the hall. Cora starts to fight, stopping when Stiles begs _please_ and she huffs her displeasure but allows herself to be pulled along. They go down two flights of stairs and into a huge living room that looks like it was ground zero for the fight. Stiles tries to split off as soon as he sees who’s there, but Ennis herds him back into position, quietly reminding him that his daughter’s life hangs in the balance; it leaves Stiles standing to one side watching his dad bleed from a cut on his head, while Jackson stands protectively near Lydia, and Scott just looks worried.

Everyone’s here. _Everyone_. The humans have all been cuffed and are corralled by one of the twins—Ethan, from the way he keeps looking longingly at Danny. The other twin stands with Kali, keeping watch over Boyd, while Derek remains the only one unbound, scratches deep along his arms and one across his chest, blood thick and matted on his skin. He has his arms loose by his side, and Stiles can hear the low rumble of a growl when they see each other.

Deucalion only smiles, reaches a hand out to touch Derek’s shoulder. “This can all be simply solved,” he says.

“Don’t listen to him!” Stiles shouts. “They want me to kill you.”

“It was one option.” Deucalion spreads his hands, shrugs. “Give Stiles the bite, have him steal your alpha spark, bring him into the pack. He finds the idea of killing you distasteful—he’d make a terrible werewolf. However, he is not the child’s only parent. While the child/omega bond is powerful, you are also her father. All we need is you, Derek, and here you are, related by blood and already an alpha. Someone who could teach her to harness her abilities, to be the kind of wolf that Talia Hale used to be.”

“My mother was nothing like you.” Derek curls his lip, baring teeth that are vicious and sharp. He still looks mostly human, but Stiles can see edges to his features that aren’t normally there, and claws tipping the hands that hang by his sides.

“We had different methodologies, but we were similar in our philosophy,” Deucalion says quietly, a small smile lurking in his expression. “You were only a child then, Derek. Do you think you were privy to everything your mother did? Every decision she made? The knowledge of the alpha was passed from her to your sister, while you remained oblivious about the more difficult choices an alpha has to make.”

Cora makes a noise, strangled and hushed when Derek flashes his eyes in their direction. “If you’re implying this is something that my mother would do,” Derek says quietly, “then you’re mistaken. She would never take a child from its parent. _Never_.”

“It was a kinder world then, wasn’t it?” Deucalion moves slowly, cane sliding against the floor to feel the pathway as he circles around Derek. “We had our territories, and we stayed in them. We knew where we were safe, and how to keep our packs growing, without growing too quickly. We knew how to run under the moon without bringing the attention of the hunters upon us. And of us all, Talia Hale was the queen.”

Derek turns with Deucalion, keeping him in his sights, but says nothing. Stiles bites his tongue, not wanting to get involved but wanting to stop this, to turn it back to the problem at hand.

He doesn’t think Derek will betray him, but he doesn’t know what Deucalion is capable of, either. All Stiles knows is that they are at a standoff, with Derek’s much larger pack under the control of Deucalion and his alphas, and everything hinges on where Julia hid Maddie.

“But queens can fall.” Deucalion’s voice drops to a stage whisper, the words lashing out as Derek steps back away from him. “The mighty huntress can become the hunted, and all it takes is one child, one poor boy who thinks so little of himself that he—”

“ _Enough_ ,” Derek snaps, and even Deucalion recoils from the sound of his voice reverberating in the air around them. “I remember history as well as you, and this is _not_ the same, Deucalion. Yes, I do remember you. I remember Kali, I remember you, I even remember Ennis, when he came down from Seattle with his pack. But I can see what you’ve done, how you’ve destroyed your own packs and banded together. And no, you cannot have Hale blood.”

“I can give you the Argents,” Deucalion says, and for a moment Stiles swears he sees a flicker of interest in Derek’s features. A twist and a raise of one eyebrow before he glowers again.

“I don’t care,” Derek snarls. “The past is the past, and the Argents have no hold over us now. The only ones hunting my pack are _you_ , and wolves do not hunt wolves unless they’ve gone rabid.”

“So kill me.” Deucalion spreads his hands. “Kill me and mine, destroy us if we’re a blight.”

He waits, and Stiles can’t breathe for wanting something to happen, something to change.

Derek’s shoulders slump. “Not yet,” he finally says. “Not until we have Maddie safe and sound.”

“Then it seems as if you will be my guests for a time.” Deucalion gestures, and Kali is there before Stiles can blink, twisting Derek’s arms behind him and binding him with something that looks like twine. Derek twists in her grip, but can’t seem to break the bonds.

“Rope made of the bark of an ash tree,” Julia says conversationally. “We’ve become creative in our ways.”

“Take them away.” Deucalion gestures, and Aidan hauls the sheriff to his feet. “Secure them. We’ll talk to our alpha and omega again later. They’ll fall in line soon enough.”

“Dad!” Stiles twists in Julia’s grasp, manages to stumble two steps forward, falling to his knees so hard it brings tears to his eyes.

“I’m okay,” the sheriff calls back. “Just a cut over the eye, bleeds like the dickens. Don’t worry about me, Stiles.”

Stiles meets his gaze and he can read all the things the sheriff isn’t saying. That he _knows_ what they’ve gotten into. That he knows Maddie is alive, and that he expects Stiles to figure this out. That he trusts him.

Stiles nods once, slowly. He lets Julia grab his wrists and yank him to his feet, pulling him towards the stairs. He doesn’t look where he’s going, staying focused on his dad and Jackson and Scott and Lydia, making sure they’re all okay. He watches to see how the groups are split, noting the humans versus the pack members, and wondering why he gets to keep Cora and Erica, while Isaac is put with Boyd and Derek. There must be a reason to their madness, but he’ll be damned if he can figure it out.

He wonders if this is all news to his father, or if he knew that Claudia was an emissary before Talia Hale died. It’s something they’ll have to talk about later. Much later, when all this is over and done.

#

Stiles pays attention to the layout of the house as they are dragged back up two flights of stairs and down the hall to the last room on the right. They put Erica and Cora in with Danny and Stiles, while they see Scott and Lydia pushed into the room next to them, along with Jackson and the sheriff. Stiles and Danny can take care of untying the ropes—no one seems to expect them to stay bound in the room this time around. Stiles knocks on the wall once they’ve settled, and he hears a knock back.

He sinks down to sit on the floor, tapping S-O-S on the wall until he hears a response in the same pattern. Danny rolls his eyes.

“Spending a year exchanging notes in Morse code has to be good for something,” Stiles mutters. “See, I’m getting something out of my high school education. It’s better than archaic Latin.”

“You never learned archaic Latin,” Danny points out.

“No, that’s why she used to use it to insult me. But she couldn’t resist the Morse code game, so here we are.” Stiles remembers how he used to sit there in his AP chem lab, tapping out messages on Lydia’s arm, waiting for her response to be pressed against his ankle by the toe of her shoe. He taps quickly now; they can’t really plan this way, but he needs to know one thing.

 _Is dad okay_?

There’s a hesitation before she responses, some movement beyond the walls.

 _Jackson says yes. You_?

Stiles leans his head back against the wall with a low thunk. _Yeah, I’m fine. We’ll get you out._

He can almost see the dubious expression when one word— _how?_ —comes back quickly.

He has to be honest here. _Don’t know. Working on it_.

There’s no response from the other side, and he uses the silence to catch Danny and Cora up on the conversation. Cora sinks down on the bed, her arms crossed. “No one is joining this asshole’s pack,” she says quietly. “And no one is dying.”

“Julia called it a great experiment to see what would happen if an emissary takes the bite,” Stiles responds. “Which means she thinks I’m way more magical than I do.”

“Lydia did think you should have your first magic lesson,” Danny points out. Stiles remembers that clearly, but he also remembers that Cora wasn’t particularly forthcoming on the idea of _magic_ , laughing when he tried to do something out of _Harry Potter_ simply because it sounded cool.

“It’s not exactly _magic_ ,” Cora says, a sigh in her voice. “It’s nature. It’s the world around us. It’s balance. It’s fitting things into the natural way.”

“It’s not fireballs and magic missiles, yeah, you said.” The problem is, Stiles doesn’t need ancient druidic ritual right now; he needs a way to find Maddie and a way out of this place. “Okay, so, balance. Let’s start with that. What happens if we kill Deucalion and his merry band of monsters?”

Danny winces, and Stiles refrains from pointing out that his ex-boyfriend is _still_ on the side of the assholes.

“I’m not so sure we can,” Cora admits. “They’re alphas, and we’re not. As much as I hate to admit it, they outnumber us just because of that.”

“I told you we were outfanged,” Erica grumbles. “We need an advantage, and right now, they have all of them.”

“They have Maddie, which is all the advantage they need.” Stiles isn’t willing to risk his daughter. He doesn’t think that they want to hurt her, but he also believes that they will do everything that can to ensure he never sees her again if they can manage it. His breath is tight in his chest; he closes his eyes and tries to breathe through it, comforted by the heavy weight of Danny leaning against one shoulder, and Erica on his other side.

“Maybe not,” Cora says quietly. She paces from the wall to the door and back again, feet slow along the floor, gaze thoughtful. “We still have you, Stiles.”

“Because I’m a lawyer and can talk my way out of here?” Stiles snorts. “Already tried that; it doesn’t work. Danny hacked us a rescue, which failed and here we are. Talents all used up.”

“Not yet.” Cora hunkers down in front of him, elbows leaning loosely against her bent knees as she crouches. “You, Stiles Stilinski, are still a Wilczek, whether you’ve done anything with it or not. Which means we have a wild card in our hand and they have no idea what to expect from you.”

“Neither do I,” Stiles points out. “You _still_ haven’t given me a clear idea what that means, other than maintaining balance, and frankly, while it’s imbalanced to have us locked up here, I don’t see a natural way out of it.”

Cora bounces on her toes, tilts backwards until she falls onto her ass to sit cross-legged. “Keep in mind that I’ve only known two emissaries very well. One was ours before our family died, and I was young then.” She nods to Stiles, and he swallows past the pain of knowing she means his own dead mother. “The other refuses to be a part of any pack, and is the most enigmatic man I’ve ever known. So I’m operating on some very old and very hidden information. But there are things every wolf knows, like the ash tree can be used as wards against us, different ways for different types of ash. And wolfsbane is dangerous—again, different kinds affect us different ways. The moon calls to our wolf, and an emissary can be our anchor. We can anchor ourselves in our alpha, or in each other. And when an emissary works, a large part of how it all comes to pass is belief.”

Stiles needs to take some time to digest her words. He works them over in his mind, worries at them like a stone between his fingers, before he can formulate questions. “Okay, so. You’re saying there are two components of everything an emissary can do: nature, and belief.”

“Something like that.” 

He hasn’t had many examples, other than Julia, and she’s used standard drugs half the time. Except for the one she claimed is her own formulation. “The emissary’s belief, or the people around them?”

“Emissary’s belief.” Cora tilts her hand as if she’s holding something, pouring it out. “The way I remember Claudia talking about it once was that anyone could lay a barrier of mountain ash around a home, and it would work as a ward against the supernatural for a time. But to make it strong, to make it _permanent_ , there had to be a spark from someone. Something to seal it.”

“So it isn’t as simple as shooting rock salt at the ghosts,” Stiles says, and Cora grins sharply.

“Exactly. Shooting rock salt just sprays salt in the air. Adding a spark of power makes it mean something and makes the ghosts go _boom_.” She spreads her hands in emphasis.

“Wait, so ghosts are real?”

“Don’t get distracted.” Danny nudges Stiles. “Stay on track with werewolves and ask questions about ghosts later.”

“I honestly have no idea.” Cora makes a face, shrugging as she pokes Stiles’s toe with her own. “I was just continuing the _Supernatural_ reference. If they’re real then what I said stands. Everything else is just stuff, without belief.”

“Well, I’ve got belief,” Stiles says firmly, pushing his hands against the floor to shove himself to standing. “I have belief in spades. I believe in werewolves, I believe in the omega/child bond, I believe that my mother was a fucking magical emissary. What I’m lacking in here are magical elements.”

“Actually…” Cora’s nose twitches. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” She nods at the walls, then at the door, and Erica scrambles to her feet as if Cora’s given an order. The two of them move about the edges of the room, leaning up and crouching down, _sniffing_ every bit of wall they can find. Stiles exchanges a look with Danny, who shrugs and mouths _werewolves_ as if that explains everything, and it probably does.

Cora stops at the door, her finger against the keyhole, then leans in and sniffs it again. “Mountain ash,” she says quietly. “It’s in the walls; this house was probably built with it. But there are holes and places where they can’t have it, or else no one would be able to move through here. The place is probably designed so an emissary can easily imprison a supernatural creature—I don’t think we’d be able to dig our way through the walls if we tried. But if she can lock it—”

“There has to be a way to unlock it.” Stiles finishes the thought for her. “The catch is, I don’t know what that way is.”

“You said you just needed the natural component and we found you that, so figure the rest out, Believer Boy,” Erica says, nudging him and grinning when he scowls at her. “I can’t really help you out with unlocking things, but when it comes to the part where you want a door broken down, just point me at it.”

“Think of it like a hack,” Danny suggests from his seat against the wall, far away from the door and any possible damage Stiles might create. “Look at all the pieces, and see where you can get between it and wedge it apart. Find a way in through the cracks in the system.”

“You’re assuming I can see the _system_.” Stiles crouches in front of the door, running his fingers over the door knob and the keyhole. He’s not sure exactly what he’s looking for or how he’s supposed to see it. In fact, maybe he shouldn’t even be looking with his _eyes_. Maybe he needs to reach out with this spark—God, Lydia might not have been all that far off talking about fireballs; he _did_ blow up the chem lab once. With his luck _spark_ is a literal thing.

He closes his eyes and tries not to think about whether he looks stupid or not, his fingers lightly sliding over the door. He feels the ridge of the lock, the edges of the hole, and there’s a gentle little hiccup under the pad of his fingertip, like he can feel _something else_. He experiments, moving away from it and back several times until he can feel the way that _else_ trails into the door, is a _part_ of the door. His breath goes rough, aching in his lungs as he holds onto it.

Now he just needs to light the right kind of spark.

This would be easy if it were roleplaying, if he could just write a rune over the door and cast a spell and let the lock pop open. He smiles slightly. “Remember that game we played senior year?”

“The RPG? You were obsessed by that thing.” Danny is still safe on the other side of the room; the only ones near Stiles are the two werewolves. “Right about the same time you and Lydia were learning Morse code, you made up that runic language.”

“It was based in reality.” He had started from an old language, then branched out, created his own symbols that felt like they made sense for different meanings and actions and spells within the game. He remembers scribbling it all over everything, labeling books and walls and drinks as if it made a difference. “It was a language, and we used it,” he says quietly, finger tracing a familiar symbol dredged from the recesses of his mind. He does it three times, then three again and three again, until he’s sure that it’s etched in the air over the door. When he’s done, he flattens his palm, covering the symbol and the lock, and whispers, “Unlock.”

He’s almost prepared for the _pop_ and the puff of smoke and heat licking against his palm. _Almost_. But when it comes, he still windmills in surprise, arms flailing out as he tilts backwards and lands on his ass.

Cora grabs the door and yanks it open. “It worked.”

Stiles rubs his hands on his legs, feeling the spark still flickering along his skin like an alien being that isn’t leaving now that he’s summoned it. “Yeah, it did. Of course it did. I believed it would.”

“I knew you were just what this pack needed.” Erica yanks him in, kisses his forehead before letting him go and shoving him into the hallway. “Let’s get our friends and get out of here.”

“Let’s find Maddie,” Stiles counters, as he heads to the next door and unlocks it as well.

They spill into the room, fingers pressed to their lips before anyone screams, trying to keep the sound to a minimum. Stiles heads straight for his dad, wraps his arms around him and hugs before pulling back to look at the stripe across his forehead.

“Like I said, it’s just a cut. Stilinskis have hard heads,” the sheriff says, and Stiles snorts, the sound more relieved than amused.

“If you start feeling dizzy, seeing double, wanting to throw up, you tell us immediately,” Stiles orders.

“Already gave him the concussion lecture,” Jackson says. “He’s not telling you that he was backhanded into a wall. Those things are strong.”

Jackson is sitting to one side, his arm around Lydia’s back, her head tipped against him. He looks worse for the wear, his hair messed and his uniform torn. There’s a light in his eyes that Stiles hasn’t seen since high school, when Jackson was on the lacrosse team, tearing up the field. It makes him look disturbingly human.

“You look like you’re handling this well,” he says dryly, because this is not the Jackson who was accusing him of killing his own daughter days ago.

“I want in,” Jackson says firmly. “I want to be one of them.”

“The alpha pack?”

Jackson rolls his eyes, glares at Stiles. “A werewolf. Tell Derek to bite me.”

Both of Cora’s eyebrows go up. “It’s not that simple. I mean, yes, the bite itself is that simple, but last I heard, you were a complete asshole to the guy my brother’s in love with, so I don’t think that’s going to make him want you in his pack.”

“He’s already in it.” Stiles can’t deny that. “That asshole is also the love of Lydia’s life and if they make up, we’re stuck with him. Plus he works for my dad.”

“You need to think and question, Jackson.” Lydia’s hand is light on his arm, but her expression is pure steel. “Becoming a werewolf isn’t a step you take lightly. Particularly not if you want back into my life.”

Because of course adversity brings a relationship back together. Just what Stiles needed, but if it makes Lydia happy, he’s on board, especially if it gets the other werewolf permanently barred from her bed. Danny’s smirking as well, and Stiles has a feeling that werewolves are the kind of genie that can’t be put back in the bottle.

Stiles jerks his head and Scott joins him with his dad; together the two of them help him stand, and Stiles tries not to think about how gingerly his father is moving. Bruises down his side at least, and he wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a broken rib or two. He doesn’t say anything, and his father doesn’t offer any more information. 

“Do you think they’ve heard us?” Lydia asks, and Cora shakes her head.

“Not unless they’ve been listening. We haven’t growled, howled, or broken anything down, so unless they’re looking for noise, we’re under the radar,” she says.

“Or if they were listening to our conversation,” Danny points out.

“If they were, they’d already be here and we’d be hip deep in fangs and blood.” Erica buffs a claw against her shirt. “And they are not, which means we currently have surprise on our side.”

“So we take advantage of that and move out.” Lydia pushes her shoulder up against Erica’s, tiny next to the taller frame. She looks at both girls, and they nod to each other, heading out as one.

“So. Werewolves.” The sheriff’s voice is low as he walks with Stiles and Scott, making their way down the hall to the stairs.

“It’s not really any weirder than being one of point zero one percent of men who can get pregnant,” Stiles mutters. “Rare seeks rare? You’d think an unplanned pregnancy would be the most unusual thing to happen to me but no, my daughter is a werewolf, so yeah. Werewolves.”

“Huh.” The sheriff goes silent after that, and Stiles knows that’s all he’ll get on the subject. He needs to give his father some time to parse, to make it past action and fully into reaction once the drama is done. He’s sure he’ll get an earful eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is getting somewhere! And yes, Derek is around. :)
> 
> Have an awesome Sunday, and I will see you again tomorrow with the next chapter! It might be a little later in the day, because work, but it will be up tomorrow. In the meantime, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) if you'd like!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for canon typical violence and magical bindings (both willing and unwilling).

Cora holds up a hand as they move through the house and they all stop abruptly, while she stands there, head cocked and listening. 

“They know we’re coming,” Erica whispers, just as Cora motions for them to run.

There’s no more reason to be quiet, so they thunder down the remaining stairs as a group, and Stiles skids to a halt to avoid the fray when Erica and Cora leap onto Kali. Cora is thrown out of the way, but Erica holds on, bearing Kali to the ground, flipping over with her.

“We only have a moment,” Lydia says, her fingers tight on his forearm. Kali is howling her anger, and Erica and Cora growl loudly in response. Stiles thinks he can hear answering sound in the distance and knows she’s right, the alphas will be here soon.

“Do you remember your runes?” Her tone is completely conversational, at odds with the tension in the way she grips him. “Because now would be an excellent time to apply another one.”

He remembers them all, the page vivid in his memory from when he first drew them out. He frowns, mentally picking through them, trying to find the one that is right for this exact moment.

“Silence,” Lydia whispers. “Then slow.”

Stiles does it exactly as he did before, this time drawing in the air in front of his face, three times, then three more times, then three times again. He flattens his hand against the rune for _silence_ and pushes into it, his breath shuddering in his chest at the impact and feel of it spreading out into a room that is suddenly eerily quiet.

He doesn’t give it time to wear off, quickly doing the same three by three sketch for _slow_ and pushing that into the air as well, watching how it changes the fight, the way Kali’s fingers move through the air. The way Julia stops just as she is about to enter the room from the other side, trapped in the net of the rune.

“Exactly who I wanted to see.” Stiles doesn’t question that he can hear his own voice, he just squeezes Lydia’s hand, nudges her toward Danny and Jackson before he stalks through the room, moving easily despite the runes. He comes in close to Julia, his hand closing around her throat as he squeezes just enough to lift her onto her toes. “Where is Maddie?”

She smiles thinly in response, mouth open with no response.

Too slow. Too quiet.

Not helpful.

Stiles spots Derek running down the hall towards them, blood on his hands that he doesn’t want to know about. “Grab her,” he says, and he closes his eyes and tries to end the effect of the runes. There is a moment where they resist before crumpling in on him in a rush of power that sends him to his knees, Julia held away by Derek’s arms around her, trapping her hands by her body.

Stiles gets a hand under himself, pushes up to look at them. “Where is Maddie?”

“Do you think I am really going to tell you? She’s well protected, and she’s ours,” Julia sneers. She winces as Stiles hears a body hit the wall, and he refuses to turn to see who it was. There are wolves in that room and there are humans, and while he would love to help them, he can’t right now. He can only pray that Derek’s pack isn’t _completely_ outfanged by the alphas, and maybe they have a few more tricks up their sleeve other than himself.

He pushes himself again, rising to his feet, stalking in close. His finger hovers over her mouth, just barely grazing her lips. The symbol comes from the recesses of his mind, drawn on instinct in repetitive patterns and nudged past her lips when he’s done. “ _Speak_.”

And she does.

“She’s ours,” Julia sneers at him. “She is _ours_ and I will never tell you where she is. Do you really think you can best me with your tiny, untrained spark?” Stiles opens his mouth, but she steamrolls over him, a steady stream of words berating him for being useless for anything other than bearing Hale cubs, bringing children into the world who will be stronger, better, and _hers_.

“Claudia Wilczek was one of the strongest emissaries on the west coast,” Derek says quietly, his fingers digging into the meat of Julia’s shoulders as he pulls her arms back, holding her still while Julia keeps speaking, right through his words. “Stiles’s untrained spark is probably stronger than yours, and when he learns how to use it, he could light the coast up with his magic. That’s why you want our child, and that’s why you’re afraid of her.” 

She hasn’t stopped speaking, not once since Stiles gave the order, but nothing she says is useful. Derek meets Stiles’s gaze over her head. “Be specific.”

Stiles touches the tip of his finger to her lips, draws the rune a second time, and as he touches it to her skin, he whispers, “Tell me where Maddie is. Tell me how she’s protected, tell me what traps there are. Tell me how to make her safe and tell me how to take her away from you. _Speak_.”

Julia chokes on her words, stumbling into a pause, head hanging as she coughs. “She’s in the vault.” Each word is tight, carefully said as if she tries to keep them inside. “Only a Hale can bring her out.”

“Then how the hell did you put her _in_ there?”

“She’s a Hale,” Derek points out. “Her touch could unlock the door, but once it closes with her inside, only Cora or myself could open it from out here, or whoever is in there with her could open it. Because I know they wouldn’t leave her in there alone.”

“She’s safe. Aidan is there with her now.”

There’s a shout, the sound of a body striking the wall, and Erica’s scream of Cora’s name. Lydia yells, and at a crash, Stiles has to turn around just in time to see her breaking a chair over Kali’s head.

Lydia and Jackson are squaring off with Kali, as she laughs at Jackson’s gun and the remains of the chair in Lydia’s grasp. Isaac and Boyd fight with Ennis, while Erica backs Derek up with Deucalion, who moves shockingly well, despite age and lack of sight. The sheriff leans against the wall, gun in hand, moving as if he’s trying to find a safe line of sight to fire on the enemy. Ethan has Danny, arms wrapped around him, held against the wall as both are completely silent. Cora lies crumpled in a corner, but as Stiles watches, she slowly unfolds herself, craning her neck like she has a crick before she crawls towards the door.

Stiles knew he liked her.

He needs to keep Julia’s attention focused on himself, not Cora, so he touches her lips again, drawing another rune. “Quiet,” he orders, following it up with, “Stay still.” He’s pretty sure that when he’s done, Derek could let her go without any problems, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He _is_ new at this, but he can feel the power bubbling up under his skin, like an actual _spark_ , heating him from the inside.

It’s a heady sensation, and he gets the feeling it could consume him if he let it. He wonders if that’s what happened to Julia Baccari, if she just let the power go until it burned her heart.

If he wants balance after this, he’s going to need to figure out how to cleanse himself. Or whatever one does.

“Deal with that.” Derek jerks his chin to indicate the fighting going on behind Stiles, and he shakes his head.

“How fast can werewolves run?” he asks instead, and he sees Julia’s eyes go wide as she realizes that Cora is nowhere in sight. She opens her mouth, and Stiles touches her lips again, his eyebrows raised.

Derek nudges Stiles’s hand away, clamps his own hand over Julia’s mouth. He arches one eyebrow as if to say _force is better than magic_ and Stiles thinks _both_ is actually the best option right now.

“And now we wait,” Stiles whispers, because he knows that the battle is only a distraction, and he prays that Cora is stronger than Aidan. For his sake, she has to be.

#

The end, when it comes, is anticlimactic. 

Derek’s phone dings loudly as he gets a text message, and he simply steps back from Julia, leaving her standing completely still on her own in order to fish it out of his pocket. He reads it, and a slow, feral grin spreads before he howls, quick, short, and joyful.

Stiles wants to collapse; the relief makes his bones limp. Instead he grabs Julia, spins them both around so that he faces the melee with his arm around her body and his hand at her throat. He doesn’t press in with his fingers, he doesn’t need to. She is still held perfectly still from his rune. “Deucalion!” he yells out. “We have your emissary and we have my daughter.”

“And Aidan will heal, although he’ll need someone to let him out of the vault eventually,” Derek adds, his tone completely conversational, as if Ethan doesn’t flinch at the mention of his twin’s name.

Deucalion barks out a quick, sharp sound, and the room rearranges, Derek’s pack on the far side of the room, crowding Deucalion, Kali, and Ennis closer to Derek and Stiles. Only Ethan and Danny stay where they are, by the wall. Even the humans are with Derek’s pack, the sheriff and Jackson both with weapons drawn, Jackson’s trained on Deucalion, and the sheriff’s pointed directly at Julia. Kali’s eyes are wide and worried, flashing red in her anger when she looks at Stiles, and he just smirks at her and holds Julia a little tighter.

“Give me a good reason not to shoot,” the sheriff says.

“I’d hate to have to be the one handling the prosecution against you,” Stiles says easily. “On the other hand, arresting her is perfectly fine. Let her rot in hell for all I care. We’ve got multiple counts of kidnapping, and given what evidence I do have, I am fairly certain we can also pin something about her controlling Dr. Morell on her as well, even if we can’t explain why.”

“You can’t keep her.” Kali snarls, stepping forward, only to have Erica insert herself between Stiles and Kali. “She’s _mine_. She can escape from any human prison.”

“Apparently I’m not entirely human myself,” Stiles reminds her. “And I think once I get a handle on this whole emissary business, I’ll be able to help keep her in check.”

“There are other options.”

Stiles twists his head to give Derek a dark look. “No, really, there aren’t. We build wolfy prisons—like this building was apparently meant to be—we put these guys and their pet emissary into them, and we leave them there. For a long, _long_ time.”

“We can’t hold them.” Derek spreads his hands, expression apologetic. “Not in a standard prison, not without explaining to everyone there exactly what werewolves are and that we exist. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Not for me, not for my pack, and not for my daughter.” His expression hardens. “Building a place to imprison a were would take time, Stiles, and we’d have to staff it afterwards. It’s not practical. We have our own methods in place for this.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Stiles mutters. It’s a question, but it’s not really a question. He can already tell that he won’t like it at all.

“We negotiate.” Derek grins, his teeth sharp and bright in his mouth. “And by that, I mean we hold all the cards, and the emissary by the throat, so we talk, and Deucalion and his alphas listen.”

“Your mother had more finesse,” Deucalion says curtly.

“My mother would have killed you for your transgression,” Derek snaps back. “I am going to let you live. And no, I do not trust you, but I will tell you exactly what you are going to do, and I have a plan for ensuring that you do it. Ethan—go get your emissary’s bag.” He gives him a moment before his eyes flash red and he growls deeply. “ _Now_.”

Ethan whispers something to Danny, then jumps up to run out. He reappears faster than Stiles expects, and Julia stiffens.

Derek takes the case he carries, opens it up and gestures for Jackson and Lydia to help him go through the items. He refuses to touch any tin or bag before Lydia and Jackson show him what it is, visibly shying away from several items. But when Lydia opens one bag, he holds out his hand to take it from her. “For memory,” he says, and Stiles has no idea what’s in the bag—he suspects vervain since Cora mentioned it once—but he knows how to use it.

Stiles hands Julia to Erica, secure in the idea that Erica will be more than willing to put a fang through her throat if she gets out of hand, and Boyd is willing to stop her from going to far. He reaches for the bag, dips his fingers in to feel the crushed herb within, let it drift along his senses in the same way that he felt what was inside the lock. “Okay,” he says. “As dorky as it sounds, you hold hands when you promise, and I will make it binding.”

Derek holds out his hand, palm up, towards Deucalion, and waits.

“One binding per person,” Stiles says, and Derek nods.

Deucalion hesitates, nudged forward by Scott and escorted to Derek’s side by Isaac. He doesn’t reach out, but Derek grabs for him, hand snaking out to grip Deucalion before he can escape.

“You will promise to disband your pack of alphas,” Derek says quietly. “You will promise to leave Hale land, and to never return unless you are invited. You promise that you will send nothing of ill will to the Hale pack, whether here or otherwise. You and yours will never touch my family, by blood, marriage, or bite. We will be allied, and you will come to my aid if requested, and Hale will come to yours. _Promise_.”

“I promise.”

Stiles takes a pinch of the dried herbs and crushes them between his fingertips, letting it drift over the joined hands of Derek and Deucalion. He draws in the air over them his rune for join, and whispers it when he pushes it into their hands. He feels the reverberation down his arm, and Deucalion snatches his hand back as if he’s been burned, glaring at Stiles, who only smirks in return.

“Not so lacking in power as you thought,” Stiles needles.

“Your emissary will be terrifying when he is trained and at full strength,” Deucalion says quietly. “Watch him, Derek, or he will be your greatest downfall.”

“Dude, you just promised not to touch me,” Stiles reminds him. “I’m his _strength_ , not his downfall. I’m not going to let this shit go to my head. And if I do—”

“I’d be happy to beat it out of him,” Jackson volunteers. “For the good of Beacon Hills, sir,” he amends with a glance at the sheriff.

“I was going to say the same thing,” the sheriff says dryly. “Stiles knows better than to get out of hand. Thankfully he’s on the right side of the law.”

“Still not a mastermind criminal, very true.” Stiles gestures to Kali. “Step right up, stick your hand in, and let’s get this party started.”

It doesn’t take long to take pledges from Kali and Ennis as well, although theirs differ slightly, promising to leave Deucalion and re-establish packs of their own, taking care of other wolves and letting rival packs be in addition to never harming the Hale pack. Julia’s vow, by her own and Kali’s request, binds her to Kali as her emissary, with a promise to uphold balance. 

In the end, only Ethan is left, standing off to the side in quiet conversation with Danny. “I need to talk to my brother,” he says, when Stiles beckons him forward. “And to Derek.”

Derek considers him, baring his teeth and flashing his eyes when Ethan tilts his head, showing the line of his throat. “Come with me,” he says curtly. “Erica, Boyd, Danny, Ethan, you’re with me. Everyone else, make sure these four clear out, then go back to Stiles’s place to meet Cora there. Jackson, take the sheriff to the hospital to get checked out.” Jackson opens his mouth, and Derek growls, cutting him off. “No arguments. If you’re interested in the bite, you do as I say without question. We’ll talk later.”

Stiles doesn’t want to know how Derek figured out that Jackson wants the bite. Maybe he heard something, maybe he figured it out from the way he was behaving. Stiles honestly doesn’t think Jackson would be a great werewolf, but they’ve already got one asshole in Isaac, might as well have another. Maybe Jackson and Scott are meant to balance each other out if they both get inducted into wolfhood. He looks at his father. “Dad, let Melissa know everything’s okay.” When the sheriff nods, Stiles smiles slightly at Isaac and Scott. “Let’s do this.”

It’s not as good as seeing his daughter, but making sure that Deucalion, Kali, Ennis and Julia are _gone_ feels a little like completion. Lydia tugs him into a hug and he holds on tight, whispers _it’s going to be okay_ more than once, and finally, _finally_ , Stiles believes her.

#

Cora is waiting outside the door when Stiles gets home, a wrapped bundle in her arms. He doesn’t say a word, just reaches for his daughter, tugging down the blankets enough to see her face and nuzzle her cheek. “Maddie.” She stirs when he whispers, snuffling noisily before throwing her arms out and snuggling closer to him. He sighs, and feels the dampness on his cheeks. “Oh fuck, Maddie. My Maddie.”

There’s a touch to his side, and he twists to let Scott get the keys out of his pocket, let them into the place. He doesn’t care about anything other than Maddie, getting her into the apartment cradled in one arm, settling himself into one corner of the couch, holding her close, feeling her breathe.

“She could probably still use contact.” Cora puts one hand on his shoulder, squeezes. “The omega/child bond is strong, but she’s a werewolf, so she needs more skin to skin contact than other children. Pack are close; she’ll need to learn all of our scents. And we can all help with her. An omega with a werewolf isn’t on their own.”

“What makes you think I’m keeping you all around?” Stiles’s voice is a soft whisper against Maddie’s skull.

Cora snorts. “Any idiot with eyes and a nose can tell you and Derek aren’t done. Besides, you as good as declared yourself married when you were talking to Deucalion.” At Stiles’s confused look, she elaborates. “Derek defined family as blood, marriage, and bite. Unless you’re going to let him bite you—which means we are _definitely_ keeping you—then the only other option is marriage. You declared yourself part of the Hale pack, which means you’re stuck with all of us.” Her gaze drifts to where Scott and Isaac are in the kitchen, putting together a plate of something to eat. “Luckily we’re not as bad as you seem to think.”

“Do packs have humans?” Lydia sits tight against Stiles’s free side, pressed in close enough that she can reach out, lightly touch the ridge of Maddie’s eyebrows. “Obviously it is possible for a werewolf/human relationship, as well as cross-breeding—we have the evidence right here. But for humans who are allied without  romantic relationship, is there a place within a pack?”

“Most packs have human members, sometimes even family members. It’s possible for werewolves to have human children,” Cora explains.

“Like Squibs,” Stiles says, and Cora nods.

“Although we have no issues with humans, and we know that there are human strains in our blood, so we aren’t surprised when one comes along.” She nods at Maddie. “That little girl is all wolf, though. When she’s old enough, she’ll be howling at the moon with the rest of the pack.”

“And do you think Derek will bite Jackson and Scott?” Lydia’s tone is entirely conversational. “Do you think he’ll take Ethan and Aidan into his pack?”

“Worried about what it would be like if Jackson were a werewolf and had to fight another one for your affections?” Stiles teases, and Lydia glares at him.

“For one, Jackson is an idiot, but I love him. That hasn’t changed. For two, Aidan is obviously an unmitigated asshole which does not actually endear him to me, unlike popular opinion regarding my sexual habits.” Lydia’s words are sharp and clipped. “So no, it doesn’t matter to me at all.”

Which means it matters all too much. And it makes Stiles wonder how relationships might change after this, whether this will put a wedge into Danny and Lydia’s platonic partnership, whether it will give Jackson a second chance. “Are you thinking of moving west?”

“Perhaps.” She touches Maddie’s shoulder lightly. “Someone needs to keep an eye on you, little girl, and spoil you rotten. Not to mention plan a wedding for your father, should that come to pass.” She raises one eyebrow, looks at Stiles. “It’s not as if you can manage that without Danny and I to guide you.”

“She’s adorable,” Cora says, and Lydia skewers her with a look.

“Food.” Isaac walks in, drops the tray on the table and falls onto the sofa on Lydia’s other side. “We didn’t eat all of it before bringing it out.”

“Is that what you were doing?” Stiles asks.

“Actually, yes.” Scott grabs a cracker off the tray. “I’m hungry, and Isaac’s acting like he’s starving. Did you really think I’d go make out with Isaac in your kitchen?”

“Yes,” Stiles says, as Cora responds the same with a deadpan expression, and Lydia rolls her eyes and nods her head.

“Maybe a little.” Isaac smirks, dropping into the other chair, dragging Scott into his lap and nuzzling his throat. “Werewolves. We like to mark what’s ours.”

“Especially after something like we all just went through.” Cora jerks her chin at where Stiles is still lightly drawing his finger along Maddie’s skin, refusing to set her down, just touching her as if she might disappear at any moment. “I don’t think you’re exactly immune.”

“Omega instinct,” Stiles murmurs.

“It’s a perfect one for a werewolf baby,” Cora tells him. “Look, you should eat something after the energy you expended today. There’s a reason why werewolves are always hungry: our metabolism runs high, and we use even more energy when we shape shift. I remember Claudia being able to eat almost as much as we did on the full moon, when she was using her own energy for emissary work, so _eat_. Then go lie down with your daughter and get some rest and some bonding time. You both need it.”

As soon as he starts eating, he realizes he’s _ravenous_. He tells Cora where the various take out menus are stuffed into a drawer in the kitchen, and he leaves the others to figure out what they want to order while he eats every scrap off the tray. Once he’s stuffed and sated, he takes Maddie to his room and strips her down to a diaper before settling her on the bed so he can pull on pajama pants and leave his own chest bare as well. He doesn’t care who might walk in; he needs omega and infant bonding contact, so he lies down on his back with her on his chest.

Stiles falls asleep to the slow rise and fall of his breathing coordinating with his daughter’s, and the sound of her pleased snuffles.

He wakes when another body slides in beside him, wraps an arm around them both. He inhales and breathes out on a sigh because it feels _right_ to have a mouth pressed to his throat, a nose nuzzling behind his ear. He rolls over on his side, cradling Maddie carefully as he presses back, spooning into the warmth and contact. “Hey, Derek,” he murmurs, and there’s only a soft, pleased growl behind him, an open-mouthed kiss with teeth to the nape of his neck. Stiles laughs, the sound making Maddie whine softly. “Tickles,” he says.

He comes to full consciousness as Maddie wriggles and whines again. “I think she’s hungry.”

“I brought a bottle.” Derek rolls onto his back, reaches for something on the nightstand and hands the bottle to Stiles. It’s already slightly warm, the perfect temperature for her. Derek helps arrange them on the bed, Derek leaning against the wall with Stiles leaning back against him, and Maddie cradled in Stiles’s arms as she suckles at the bottle. It lets Derek touch her as well, fingers drifting against the curve of her skull as she makes little pleased noises.

“How did it go, at the vault?” Stiles asks.

“Ethan and Aidan are in the living room,” Derek says quietly. “They’re on probation. Both are willing to pledge—with your binding—to the pack. There’s something between Ethan and Danny, right?”

“They’ve fucked in the past,” Stiles says, because he’s not sure if there’s a better word for it. It’s all Danny and Lydia said it was anyway. “Danny and Lydia met up with the twins and took them home. I think Danny’s still into Ethan. I’m pretty sure that Lydia is over Aidan.”

“Lydia smells like want and pain whenever Jackson walks into the room,” Derek says dryly. “She has a thing for assholes.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes Stiles think him smelling this is a _recent_ occurrence. “Just how many people are in my living room right now?” he asks warily.

“All of them.” Derek tightens his hold on Stiles, one hand sliding down his arm in reassuring manner. “Our entire pack.”

“Which is?” Stiles chooses to ignore Derek’s choice of the word _our_ in favor of actual _numbers_ and _names_.

“Isaac, Erica, and Boyd,” Derek starts off with his werewolves. “Cora, of course. Lydia and Danny, Ethan and Aidan, Jackson and your father. Scott, who is on the phone with Melissa. He and Isaac are asking Melissa to lunch tomorrow so they can talk to her about werewolves. If they don’t, your father says he will.”

“I see.” Derek’s pack has grown since this started, Stiles can see. _Their_ pack has grown. “Has Lydia started hunting for a house?” Because that’s his litmus test for just how serious this has become.

“They’re waiting for us.” Derek gently takes the bottle from his hand, where Maddie has ceased sucking and is now snoozing lightly. “They want to scent the baby, want to make sure everyone smells like pack. And you have an induction ceremony to perform for the twins.”

It’s not an answer. Stiles doesn’t think he’s going to _get_ an answer, but he also doesn’t think he needs an answer. “We should just take over a neighborhood,” he says with a sigh. “I’m going to need a bigger place, and it’ll make it simpler if everyone’s closer. Right?”

“You don’t have to jump in over your head, Stiles,” Derek says quietly.

“You haven’t known Lydia for long,” Stiles retorts. “If she’s in, I’m already drowning. There is no _slow_ once she gets planning, there’s only _swim hard_ or start sinking.”

“She’s following _you_.” Derek shifts so he’s facing Stiles on the bed, the baby curled between them. “I’m in, if you’re in, Stiles. I’m willing to see if this is more than friends with benefits, if what we had before is still worth something now. Maddie’s my daughter, too, and she’s a werewolf, and for what it’s worth, I didn’t plan on walking out on you.”

“I know, Cora told me. And I didn’t want you to go,” Stiles admits. “So yes, sure, we take it slow. But I’m in. I never would’ve been out if you hadn’t left.”

“I wouldn’t have left if it hadn’t been an emergency.”

Stiles gets that now, understands why Derek left and he wonders if Julia Baccari and Deucalion’s pack had a plan all along. He holds Maddie carefully in one arm, reaches out with his other hand to touch Derek’s cheek. He’s not sure who leans first, but they both meet somewhere in the middle, just a slow slide of lips on lips with a hint of tongue, a promise of what might come someday down the road.

Stiles is okay with that. More than okay. He’s ready to move into this strange new life with his daughter, his alpha werewolf, and their pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we are almost there! Just one short epilogue to come tomorrow, and we will be done. It's been an amazing ride (and will be almost 50k) and THANK YOU all for your incredible support and encouragement. So many <33!!
> 
> I'm sneaking this in first thing in the morning today, and with luck will be able to do the same on Tuesday. In the meantime, feel free to come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com), where I ramble onwards as I plan a new piece. Take care, all!


	10. Chapter 10

“Werewolves move the furniture, puny humans get stuck with all the boxes,” Stiles grumbles as he unwraps yet another glass and puts it in the cabinet. “How much kitchenware do you _have_ , Lydia?”

“Danny likes to cook, and I enjoy eating good food,” she says mildly. “Don’t complain. You _could_ be wrestling my four poster bed into the master bedroom, or you _could_ be carrying one end of the pullout sofa for the den, or you _could_ —”

“I get the point,” Stiles says dryly. “I’m lucky to be unpacking, not carrying furniture or boxes. And I’m thankful I didn’t have to drive across the country in the truck like Danny and Ethan—although really, I don’t think they minded the ten day chance for privacy.”

“Jackson installed soundproofing in all bedrooms, both in this house and in the other.” Lydia smiles. “We all know what we’re getting into. I think Danny and Ethan will be just fine.”

“And Aidan very intelligently seems to have gotten a new job that keeps him on the road half the time.” Stiles still doesn’t like or trust Aidan, but he has to give some kind of props to a guy who is willing to share a house with his ex-girlfriend and her current lover just so he can be with his twin.

“Found some more boxes labeled kitchen.” Jackson walks in with his arms around a box that Stiles is pretty sure could squash him flat, carrying it like it’s nothing. Jackson sets it down next to Stiles and smirks before he snakes an arm around Lydia’s waist and tugs her close to kiss her. She tosses her hair and it’s just like high school for five seconds before she nudges him away.

“Let us finish.” When he leans in again, she pushes back against his chest. “My terms, Jackson. My terms.”

Which Stiles knows means that Jackson has his own bedroom. There are four bedrooms in this house—one each for Jackson, Lydia, and Danny, and one for the twins to share. It’s a single house for five people, unlike the one down the street which has two apartments that are joined into a single house—one for Scott and Isaac, and the other for Boyd and Erica.

“I feel left out,” Stiles murmurs.

“I don’t do threesomes, Stilinski,” Jackson retorts, and Lydia pushes him toward the door.

“No snark,” she says quietly. “Not today. Today is celebrating a new life, and a new start, and my new job on the west coast. Today is about friends being back together, and about _someone_ surviving a certain bite he insisted on having as soon as possible.”

“Two someones,” Stiles adds, since they’re coming up on the first full moon since both Jackson and Scott survived the bite. Stiles knows that it means that Scott will be joining Isaac at the next big family gathering, but he’s not worried this time around since he and Maddie will be going as well.

His definition of family has certainly changed in the last few months.

The sheriff comes into the kitchen as Jackson finally heads out, a careful dance as the sheriff has his granddaughter cradled against his chest. He turns her and she holds out chubby arms, kicking her feet in delight and making little happy noises when Stiles reaches for her. She’s only just over three months old, but she’s already outgoing and her personality is very evident. When she’s stubborn, the sheriff laughs, telling Stiles he deserves it. The fact that she started grabbing things early and has already discovered the concept of rolling over in order to get somewhere only entertains the sheriff more. Personally, Stiles loves her eyebrows, and the way she seems to have entire conversations with her other father without ever saying a word.

Apparently speaking eyebrow is a Hale thing. Cora very definitely does it too.

“Someone’s been getting a bit antsy, thought she might want to go in your harness so she can move around with you and watch the world,” the sheriff suggests. “Also, Derek’s car is pulling up, if you’ve been looking for him.”

Lydia offers the contraption that lies on the counter, taking Maddie while Stiles shrugs into it. It takes two of them to get Maddie into it, facing front so she can see everything, joyfully kicking her feet while making small noises that sound suspiciously like yips. Stiles would call a spade a spade, but Derek gets annoyed every time he refers to Maddie as their puppy, so he _tries_ to avoid the dog jokes. Mostly.

“Go,” Lydia says, nudging him towards the door. She exchanges a look with the sheriff that makes Stiles hesitate, just before he leaves the kitchen.

“You two are up to something,” he says slowly.

“I’m trying to get a snack,” the sheriff tells him. “Without anyone else telling me what I can eat.”

“Lydia will make sure you stay healthy.” Stiles shrugs off that explanation. “Lydia?”

“I want you out of my kitchen because I am tired of hearing you complain.” She gestures at the door, pointing hard. “If you don’t want to unpack kitchen things, go help Derek unload his car. I mean it, Stiles. _Go_.”

It’s the truth. At least, he thinks it’s _almost_ the truth, even though something in her delivery still tweaks his lawyerly senses. He frowns at her and shakes his head. He opens his mouth, but she jabs her finger at the door, and in the face of an irritated Lydia, Stiles decides it’s wisest to head outside as directed.

He passes through the living room, Danny pausing in arranging books on shelves to glance at him, watching him in a way that makes Stiles think that whatever is going on, Danny’s in on it, too. He has to stop at the front door while Ethan, Aidan, and Jackson manage to maneuver a recliner through the door, Aidan insisting that if it doesn’t fit, they don’t actually _need_ it, while Ethan insists that it is absolutely _necessary_.

Stiles slips past as soon as space opens up, out onto the doorstep and searches for Derek’s car, finding the black Toyota parked at the front of a line of cars, leaving him in front of the lawn two houses down the road. Maddie squeals, and Derek howls, soft and low enough that it doesn’t seem to come from him, but Maddie’s arms and legs are moving as she tries to swim through the air as if that will make Stiles move faster.

Derek waits at the car, leaning against the side, until Stiles arrives. He reaches out to pull him into a warm hug, Maddie between them, cooing as her fathers kiss quietly.

“Everyone on the street is probably watching from behind their curtains,” Stiles murmurs.

“It won’t be the last time they see it.” Derek reaches in through the open window and pulls out a familiar backpack, holding it out. “Take this.”

Stiles does, automatically, unwilling to let this precious case hit the ground. He knows exactly what it is and can tell by the weight of it that his laptop is definitely inside. What he doesn’t understand is _why_.

He shrugs it over his shoulders, feeling himself balanced by Maddie on the front and his laptop on his back. “What’s going on here?”

“I figured that the first three things you’d want to move into a new place would be your laptop, your daughter, and hopefully me.” Derek walks across the lawn to the front door of the place he’s parked in front of, twists a key in the lock and opens the door. “Surprise.”

“What?” Stiles doesn’t move, although Maddie giggles and kicks, obviously ready to follow Derek.

“The house,” Derek says. “It’s yours. _Ours_. Cora said she likes having the apartment to herself since I’m at yours most of the time anyway, and she also said something about keeping my room as a guest place for when Lydia throws Jackson out, or maybe when Lydia walks out in disgust. Either way, you know that I haven’t been staying there, and you said you needed a larger place and that we should take over a neighborhood.”

“You remembered that.” He still hasn’t moved, too flabbergasted by the fact that this is happening to process it properly. He risks a glance towards Lydia’s place, and they are all on the steps or the front lawn, watching him. Watching them, and waiting for some kind of a reaction.

“I’m moving too fast?” Derek jumps off the top step, landing lightly on the ground as the door swings closed behind him. He moves too fast for Stiles to see, suddenly _there_ , with his hand on Stiles’s cheek, gentle and careful. “You hate it.”

“I haven’t even seen it. I don’t hate it.” Stiles tries to pull in a breath, let it out slowly. He imagines he can hear Lydia counting, and he breathes to the familiar rhythm as he tries to get himself under control. “I just… you surprised me. I wasn’t expecting this. We’re supposed to be unloading the truck, getting two other households set up today.”

“I sent Cora, Erica, and Boyd to your place,” Derek admits. “They’re just waiting for me to call and tell them to start packing. You’re not even interrupting anything. Scott, Isaac, Boyd and Erica got most of their moving done yesterday.”

He’d be living two doors down from two of his best friends, and three houses down and across the street from his other best friend. He’d have a backyard for Maddie, and they could put up a swing set, maybe get a dog (do werewolves _have_ dogs?). He’d be living with Derek for real, not just sharing space in a too small apartment. Maybe they could manage to get some real furniture.

There might even be enough rooms if they ever had more kids, on purpose the next time around.

He licks his lips, takes a breath. “Yeah. Tell them to pack, then show me the house. I want to see where we’ll be living.”

Maddie coos and Derek leans close, frames Stiles’s face with his hands and kisses him soundly. “Thank you,” Derek whispers, and Stiles can hear the noise in the background, their friends calling out to them.

“For what?”

“Just for this.” And Derek kisses him again, then ushers him to the door and inside.

#

The day passes quickly in a haze of moving and unpacking. Stiles still hates it, even when it’s his own things in his own kitchen. The place is so much larger than his old apartment, and even with Derek’s things matching up to his, it still seems under-furnished. The only room that seems complete is Maddie’s; Derek and Cora painted it the same colors Stiles chose in the apartment, and everything fits perfectly. She has shelves for her toys, and there’s nothing scattered over the floor. It’ll be a perfect room for a little girl to grow up in.

And he was right: there are still two unused rooms, although one is currently planned as a study and the other as a guest room, plus a finished basement. They could easily fit more kids into the house, if they decided it would be a good idea. Stiles wants to get used to being a father to one kid first, and treasure the fact that he has her at all.

They eat at Scott’s place, cooking a pile of burgers on a brand new grill that Boyd bought the day before. Isaac acts as chef, making each one to order until even the werewolves are finally sated. Stiles sits off to one side with Maddie curled on his lap, her thumb tucked in her mouth as she snoozes.

“She’s going to wake up when you get home,” Cora comments, dropping onto the porch stair next to him.

“Probably. She likes sleeping in noisy spaces, and as soon as it gets quiet, she gets noisy to make up for it.” Stiles hands her over, lets Cora nuzzle in close to scent mark the baby, while Maddie nuzzles back sleepily. He’s used to it by now, by the way the pack works. It was so easy to fall into new habits, and so instinctual to continue to follow them.

Cora keeps Maddie, holds her against her shoulder as she leans into Stiles, and he puts his arm around her holding on easily. “Don’t fall asleep,” he cautions. “You’ve got your own apartment now. You’re not stuck living with Derek anymore.”

“Do you like it?” Cora asks. “He was really worried, you know, that it would be too much too fast.”

“ _Too much too fast_ is the title of our biography,” Stiles says dryly. “But yeah, I like it. It’s a good space for Maddie, and we’ve been good together. This actually being _together_ thing, instead of fuck buddies, seems to be working out. I feel…” he hesitates, searching for the right word. “I feel more stable around him. My entire life has revolved around my mind pinging off in different directions, and he makes it easier to focus. Easier to stay in tune with the world around me.”

“Anchored,” Cora says.

“Yeah, anchored. Maybe more like tethered, because he isn’t dragging me down. There’s no weight to it, just solidity.” Stiles licks his lips, reaches out with his senses because he _knows_ where Derek is just by wanting to know. He can feel contentment, knows he’d see him smiling if he actually looked. And he feels the pack as well, a low hum of pleasure and calm. It feels good.

Cora shifts against him, and he reaches for Maddie so that Cora can get something out of her pocket. She holds out her hand palm up, fingers curled around something loosely. “I wanted to give you this. Claudia gave it to me when I was a toddler, on my first full moon. And I know Maddie won’t be affected by the moon for a long time still, not the way we are, but I want her to have it.

When she uncurls her fingers, there is a short chain with a pewter wolf dangling from it. The chain isn’t too heavy for a child, but isn’t so delicate that she’ll break it, either, and it’s the same for the wolf pendant, it’s mouth open wide in a howl. Stiles runs his finger over it, imagining this in his mother’s hands, and he suspects that Cora as a child looked a lot like Maddie, all wild dark hair, impish eyes and Hale eyebrows.

She spills it into his hand. “Hold onto it for her. Sometimes when we’re little, it helps to have something to hold onto. She’ll have you for an anchor, and Derek, and the whole pack when it comes down to it. But toddlers want to be independent, and she won’t want to rely on everyone else. Tell her that she can focus on this, that it’s from her grandmother and her father, and that it’s special to her line. That it will help her find her heart and hold the wolf at bay, so she can still be human and not give in completely to the animal. She can wear it, and it’ll help her come back.”

“So it’s a magic talisman?”

Cora snorts. “It’s just a necklace. But she’ll believe in it, and she’ll remember, and she’ll feel Claudia with her just like you do, don’t you? Remember what I told you: it’s all about belief. And she’s got Wilczek blood, too. Hale wolf, and Wilczek belief. She’s going to be an amazing girl.” She pats his knee. “You should collect Derek and go home, put Maddie to bed in her new room. It’s late and it’s been a long day.”

“Who knew you’d be the practical one.” Stiles leverages himself up, careful of the sleeping infant cradled in one arm. He can’t leave immediately; he needs to make a stop by Scott and Isaac and thank them for dinner, and chat for a bit with them and Erica and Boyd about the new house. He checks in with Lydia before he leaves, making sure she hasn’t managed to have her first fight with Jackson already, before they even spend the first night in their house. He can’t talk to Danny; he’s already gone, and while Stiles _could_ Skype him for purely interruptive entertainment purposes, to make up for waking him up all those times, he knows it would just escalate and he’d lose when Derek was the one who got pissed off about it.

Instead he just finds Derek at the end and tugs him to his feet. He surrenders Maddie to the sheriff long enough for his father and Melissa to say a proper goodbye to her, then takes her back so they can walk across the street and just three houses down to the strange place that is now theirs.

It seems odd to twist the key in the lock, see his car sitting in the driveway as they walk in, and to know that they are completely alone once they get inside.

Derek crowds Stiles against the door as he pushes it closed, stealing a kiss and trailing across to his jaw with light touches, sucking at the space behind his ear.

“I’m still carrying a baby,” Stiles reminds him. Not to mention that he’s not cleared for certain activities yet, as well as the fact that even though he and Derek have been practically living together, there are still loose ends in their relationship.

“Let’s get her into bed.” Derek takes Maddie up the stairs into the room two down from their own, settles her on the changing table and quickly gets her diaper changed and puts her in a light sleeper without waking her up. It’s impressive and weirdly hot to see him being all fatherly, and Stiles busies himself setting up the monitor and a small white noise machine that always helps her sleep.

It’s only awkward when they’re in their new room, the furniture small in the empty space. Stiles strips off his shirt and tosses it over to one side of the room, missing his desk chair that’s now in his office. “We need more furniture.”

“We’ll buy it. Make it ours.” Derek wraps his arms around Stiles from behind, nuzzles the nape of his neck. “You’re sure this is okay?”

“Yeah.” Stiles may still feel uncertain about a lot of things, but this feels right. Being here with Derek, being a _family_ , is the best thing that’s happened.

“Then come outside with me for a minute.” Derek holds out his hand, and Stiles takes it, threading their fingers together and letting Derek lead him back down the stairs and out. He has to stifle a moment’s worry about leaving Maddie alone, but this is their space, and he knows Derek will hear any small whine long before he does.

Once they are outside, Stiles sees their pack moving around. He can hear Scott’s voice as he calls out his goodbyes, can spot Jackson and Lydia making their way hand in hand down the street. He hears the door of his father’s car slam, and the engine rumble to life. Across the street, a neighbor lifts the curtains in the front windows, peers out for a moment, then lets the curtain fall.

Lydia waves as she walks past, and Cora honks her horn before peeling out with more noise than is appropriate for the neighborhood. Stiles snorts softly.

“Lydia and Danny both gave me the _hurt him again and I will end you_ speech,” Derek says idly. “I’ve lost count of how many times they’ve each said it to me. Scott managed to stop after once, and your dad held himself back after the second time. Melissa reminded me that she has access to some very strong drugs and can probably make a cocktail that would keep even a werewolf down. Although out of it all, I think the scariest ones were Cora, Erica, and Isaac each cornering me at least once today and warning me that if I didn’t make you happy, the pack would suffer, with an underlying current of how _I_ would suffer the consequences.”

“Apparently they all like me,” Stiles says dryly. “Even Isaac, who knew.” He can see Isaac and Scott still out on their own steps, and he lifts his hand, waving to them and jabbing a finger towards their house. After a moment, they turn and go inside, the light turned off in their wake.

“I don’t mind, considering that no matter how rocky a start we had, I happen to plan to keep you.” Derek frames his face with his hands, gently turns Stiles’s attention to him, meeting his gaze. “If you want me to.”

“I said yes to moving in together,” Stiles reminds him. “We have a daughter. I am open to discussing additions to the family, but please let me make partner at the firm first. I’m not sure I could stand landing on bed rest again and another several months of forced inactivity, not at this point in my career. Although at least this time I’d have you to wait on me hand and foot.”

“Sounds like you’re in it for the long haul.” Derek’s thumb slides along Stiles’s cheekbone, lightly touching each of the moles along the way. “They say that emissary/alpha bonds are the strongest, that they form the basis for the best packs. My mother was strong with your mother as a friend.”

“I imagine we could destroy the world together,” Stiles deadpans. “Or save it a few times. Considering it has been pointed out multiple time that I happen to be on the _right_ side of the law, as opposed to being a brilliant career criminal.”

Derek’s smile is bright and slightly lopsided, a fond smirk. “Save it,” he confirms. “Protect Beacon Hills, form brilliant alliances, and raise a pack no one wants to cross. I’ll be your anchor, and you can be mine.”

“Always,” Stiles murmurs, and he fits his hands to Derek’s waist, tugging him close to kiss him long and slow.

He squeaks when Derek shifts his grip, lifts Stiles in a bridal carry without breaking the kiss.

“What’s going on?”

“Carrying you over the threshold properly this time, since we didn’t get to do it earlier,” Derek murmurs. “Unless you’d rather carry me.”

Stiles isn’t a weakling, but he knows his limits. “Carry on, sir wolf. As has been pointed out, the werewolves do the heavy lifting, and we humans follow along for the ride.” He smirks. “Which only means I get to give the orders. Upstairs, Derek, and into bed. Now.”

“As you wish.” Derek ducks his head to give Stiles one more kiss, then carries him into their new home, and their new life. One life, one family: Stiles, Maddie, and Derek. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Yes, I'm a sucker for a happy ending, especially when the story begins with so much angst. I hope you've enjoyed the ride, and thank you all so much for being here. <33 You guys are amazing.
> 
> If you want to keep up with my random babblings and my ongoing writing, feel free to come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).

**Author's Note:**

> Temporary Character Death and Miscarriage both refer to the supposed death of Stiles’s daughter, who is actually stolen and not dead. However, Stiles does grieve at first as if she were dead.


End file.
